Not Quite
by Azarr
Summary: So close your eyes; escape this town for a little while... Yaoi, peeps. Why are you surprised? The genres mean nothing. I just couldn't think of anything to put this under ;;
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**:Don't own the song lyrics; don't own the characters; don't own the quote, yeah.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex...

**Spoilers**: I'm not wearing shoes.

-----

"_Your heart is my piñata._"

Chuck Palahniuk

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter One:

_We were both young when I first saw you..._

-----

The library was easily Near's favourite place in Wammy's House. The scent of old books and the quiet sounds of children playing outside, dulled by layers of stone and mortar, never failed to calm him. Surrounded by and expanse of knowledge that had been acquired over centuries, Near felt at home.

There was a group of tables, situated halfway between the sections on English literature and modern history, which always remained unoccupied, except for when Near himself sat at them. The sunlight flowed into one of the windows that was high on the wall and provided just enough light for him to read well into the afternoon. When the sun set, it cast the room in a pink and orange haze, and then the lights came on, which meant that Near could read as long into the night as he wanted to.

The library was his home; the library was the place where he took refuge.

But something was not right.

Between a row of shelves on the French Revolution and Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' sat a boy that Near had never seen before; more important was the fact that this boy was holding Near's favourite book on Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and, as jam dripped from his fingers and onto the page, he looked up at Near with apparent disinterest.

Near clenched his fist and said pointedly, "You've put jam on the book."

The boy looked down at the book, then back up at Near. "Yes, I have," he said slowly, as if Near was stupid.

Feeling annoyed, Near continued, "Food isn't allowed in the library."

The boy picked up his jar of jam and scooped a handful of it into his palm. He licked at it deliberately and replied, "No, it's not."

Frustrated, Near took a book from a shelf at random and sat down at one of the tables. He was not quite close enough to read the titles of the books surrounding the other boy, but he was not so far away that he could not hear the sick squelching of jam being poked.

"Do you want me to put the book back?" the boy suddenly asked.

Near frowned minimally and answered, "No; feel free to keep dirtying it with jam."

In his peripheral vision, Near saw the boy shrug and continue to eat jam.

Near sighed to himself and read whatever book was in front of him, trying to ignore his frustration.

It was well past curfew when he finally finished the book. Near stood up, feeling calmer than he had in days, and made to put the book back.

The boy was still there, eating jam.

Near put the book back somewhat stiffly and began to walk away. He had never seen the boy before, so he would probably never have to see him again.

Hopefully, when the boy left, Near could salvage the book.

"You're leaving already?" the boy called after him, sounding somehow disappointed.

Near replied over his shoulder, "I'm going to bed. I suggest you do the same."

It was almost invisible in the dark shadows that shrouded the shelves, but the boy pouted. "Can I go with you?"

Near did not stop walking, though he was sorely tempted to turn around and glare at the boy. "You've got your own bed," he said curtly. "Please stop keeping me from mine."

The boy pouted again and responded, "But you're pretty, and you look just like _He_ does... Do you want a lollipop?" He suddenly procured a sweet from his pocket and approached Near with it.

"No, thank you," Near said politely. He kept walking, hoping that the boy would stop following him.

"It's strawberry flavour," the boy said as he caught up to Near, holding out the lollipop expectantly. "Everyone likes strawberry flavour."

Near wondered how easy it would be to force someone to choke on a toy robot's arm. He clenched his fist around the Optimus Prime figurine in his hand and repeated firmly, "No, thank you."

The boy shrugged and popped the lollipop into his own mouth. "You," he mumbled around the candy, "aren't very friendly."

Just as Near was about to snap off Optimus Prime's arm and somehow force it down the boy's throat, the boy continued, his words slurred, "You know what 'N' is for? '_Near_'. That's you, isn't it? You're _near_ly L. You're _near_ly perfect. You're _near_ly the best. You're _near_ly worth it... But you're not."

"Do you know what 'p' is for?" Near asked, feeling extremely bored with this boy.

The boy smirked around the lollipop and said, "Piss off."

Near turned down a corridor and faced his bedroom door. "Yes, perhaps you should," he said as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

The boy's laughter rang loud and clear in the night.

Near hated that he was curious.

-----

I'm bored and uninspired, so bite me, bitches.

The best bit? I'm not even going to reveal to you who 'the boy' is, though it's pretty obvious.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**:I don't own it, yo.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex... Just to let you know, this is where the story earns its 'M' rating (:

**Spoilers**: Beyond Birthday! If you don't know who he is, I suggest you go away :D

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Two:

_I'm standing there, on a balcony, in Summer air... See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns..._

-----

The Mid-Year Dance was something of a tradition at Wammy's House. It was the only time of the year that all of the students could gather together and celebrate (apart from Christmas and New Year's), and most of the children took the opportunity to 'date' each other.

Near felt that the whole thing was rather stupid, and actively sought to avoid it.

Everything seemed somehow more calm and safe in the library, where the sounds of people chattering and laughing, dulled by stacks of paper and wood, could not reach him.

He hated to admit it, but the crowds made him anxious.

The library was his home, his sanctuary; it was the one place where he felt safe in himself and his surroundings.

But something was not right.

The books had been disturbed. They were tragically out of order and in complete disarray.

As Near patiently rearranged them, careful not to crease even a single page, he took note of the jam-stains on the covers. He could not believe the nerve of that boy.

He left the library as soon as he had finished, and took up staring out at the children from the balcony adjoining his bedroom. He knew for a fact that no one would bother to look up and see him there.

It was a pity that he hated parties, because he had a feeling that this one would have been fun.

Most of the girls were dressed in expensive and pretty dresses that swirled about their legs as they danced. The boys were dressed in suits and ties, something that Roger had insisted on. It was a masquerade dance, and, though everyone was wearing bright, sparkling masks, Near could recognise nearly everyone there.

Near was somehow fascinated by the way that Linda's smooth pale legs contrasted with one of the boys' pairs of black pants.

He did not recognise whatever song was playing, but he didn't care. He realised with a sick jolt of disgust that he was staring at Linda's skin as the hem of her dress floated up somewhere around her mid-thigh.

It was suddenly far too bright and loud, and Near leaned his chin heavily into his hand when he forced his eyes away from Linda.

For whatever reason, he was not surprised when he spotted Mello and Matt pouring something into the punch-bowl. He was even less shocked when Roger promptly poured the punch onto the grass and ordered Mello back inside.

And then, suddenly, everything seemed to stop; at least, it _should_ have stopped, because Near choked on his breath and dropped a piece of Lego over the side of his balcony.

Judging by the shout that came from below him, he'd hit a girl on the head.

Near didn't care. He wondered if that made him a bad person.

A boy - The_ boy_, Near thought to himself - had stepped into the large yard, though he didn't look interested in anything or anyone. He quickly stepped around the group of dancing bodies and into the shadows, where, by the looks of it, a girl was waiting for him.

Somehow, Near managed to convince himself that he was not a pervert for watching the boy and girl kiss heatedly. Somehow, it didn't occur to Near that he should look away when the boy untied the girl's dress and touched her breasts.

Near watched, feeling some kind of strange, detached interest, as the couple had sex.

The movements seemed awkward - thrusting and touching and kissing and moaning and thrashing about; it all seemed very uncomfortable, especially on the grass.

The low moonlight seemed to illuminate the boy's skin and make it glow. Near leaned over the railing of his balcony slightly and tried to see the boy's face.

When the moon came out from behind a cloud and lit up the yard beautifully, Near was startled and sickened when he saw the boy staring back at him.

Still staring at Near, the boy pulled the girl closer and kissed her, his nails tearing at her back.

The girl's back arched and Near imagined her crying out, before the boy threw his head back and they both fell still.

Near, nauseated and aroused, tried to pretend that he had not been looking, and that he had seen nothing.

Linda was still dancing with the as-yet-unidentified boy.

Near acted as if he didn't notice when the boy in the shadows kissed the girl on the mouth and left the party.

Near felt the boy's kiss distinctly on his face and Linda's dress fluttering around his knees when he abruptly turned into his room. He did not sleep that night.

-----

Sex? -le gasp-

Hmmm...

I'm bored.

I'm doing that insane updating thing.

I didn't even proof-read this shit properly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**:Not mine, homies.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex... More 'M'-ness, folks. First time that I've ever posted anything resembling a lemon. Should I be nervous?

**Spoilers**: Beyond Birthday! If you don't know who he is, I suggest you go away :D

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Three:

_I see you make your way through the crowd and say 'hello'..._

-----

The 'after party' of the Mid-Year dance was a ritual that the staff of Wammy's House pretended not to know about. The students managed to produce alcohol from somewhere - Near highly suspected that they pulled some favours with the people of Winchester - and gathered on the yard the night after the Mid-Year dance.

Near thought that the idea of an 'after party' for a dance was ridiculous, so he had never bothered to attend the 'after party', and didn't plan on ever doing so.

The library seemed to soothe his troubled mind; the library, his home, where the sounds of people giggling drunkenly and staggering about, dulled by layers of feathers and cotton, failed to pierce his thoughts.

The library hid him from the loud noises and less than sober crowds; he felt safe in the library.

But something was not right.

His puzzle comforted him with its familiarity, his blanket was warm over his head, and the table and chairs hid him from sight, but he had the overwhelming knowledge that something was happening.

In the library.

In _his_ library.

He peeked out from under the blanket and could not quite seem to avert his gaze from Linda, who was sitting exactly where _the boy_ had been only days ago, weeping.

He hoped that she had not noticed, but didn't feel too irritated when she looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy.

"N-Near," she sobbed. "What a-are you doing h-here?" She dabbed at her eyes.

Near crawled toward her slowly and handed her a tissue from his pocket. "I'm playing," he replied, gesturing toward the puzzle under the table and his blanket. He was almost upset that he had been disturbed from it.

Linda smiled weakly and choked, "We sh-should go to bed."

She made no move to stand up, but neither did Near.

"Why are you crying?" Near asked. He had a feeling that she wouldn't tell him until he asked, which was a pity, as he hated asking unnecessary questions.

Linda wiped her eyes on the tissue. Near was disgusted with the black make-up that came off of her face.

"Me-Mello," Linda hiccupped. "He... H-He said th-that I..." She looked up at Near, her eyes wide, and laughed. It sounded forced, and Near winced. Linda lowered her gaze to her hands and mumbled, "He s-said that I l-look like a-a cheap h-hussy..." She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook.

Near looked down at Linda's short skirt. It left little to the imagination, especially when Linda had her legs crossed. Her singlet showed off far more of her chest than Near had ever hoped to see, and, despite the large amount that coated the tissue, make-up covered her face.

Though he personally agreed with Mello, Near said awkwardly, "You're beautiful."

Linda looked up at him, her eyes wide, and her breath seemed almost unhealthily short when she whispered disbelievingly, "Y-You mean it?"

Near nodded curtly and tugged at his hair. He knew a lot of beautiful people; Mello, Linda, _the boy_...

He sometimes wished that he was one of them, or, at least, that someone could bear to look at him for more than a few seconds at a time.

He was caught off-guard when Linda lunged at him and forced her lips onto his. It was not particularly pleasant, but Near did not hate it. He wouldn't mind doing it again, especially if a book was not digging into the back of his head at the next occasion.

He had never kissed anyone before. _The boy_ had put his hands on the mysterious girl's waist. Was he supposed to do that?

Linda's tongue was suddenly in his mouth. Near gagged. She tasted of stale alcohol and something far too salty for his liking.

He did not respond to her, even when she climbed halfway into his lap and moaned into his mouth, her fingernails digging into his cheeks.

He looked around the library to distract himself from the odd sensation of her bare legs on either side of his waist, choking on Linda's saliva (he cringed at the thought) when his eyes met _the boy's_.

_The boy_ smiled and waved. 'Hi,' he mouthed. He was seated atop the table that Near had been playing under. Near wondered how long the boy had been there, and why no one could simply let him play in peace.

Near waved his hand back slightly. Linda kissed his throat.

_The boy_ licked the jam from his finger and sucked it into his mouth. Near was surprised by his quiet groan, even as it tore from his throat. Linda seemed to take it as a sign of encouragement, and bit down lightly on his skin.

Near suddenly became aware of the fact that he could hear less-than-muffled noises from beyond the library, which meant that the door was open.

Someone had disturbed him in his sanctuary.

That someone smiled again and made an obscene gesture with their hands. 'Can I watch?' the someone mouthed.

Near's eyes widened when he mouthed back, his cheeks burning, 'Get out!'

_The boy_ shrugged and lay down on the table, making his erection visible to Near.

A choked noise escaped Near's lips. Linda's hands crept up the sides of his shirt.

_The boy_ seemed to realise where Near's eyes were drawn to. He waved a hand at his face and mouthed, 'You want to watch, too?'

Near averted his gaze to Linda, whose back was arched, pressing her breasts flush against his chest. He swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat and tentatively touched her waist. She made a delighted noise. Near shifted uncomfortably.

_The boy_, somehow, was in front of them, his palm pressed against his crotch. He eyed Near heatedly and mouthed, 'Do it.'

Near's fists clenched around the tight material of Linda's shirt. She made the sound again, and _the boy's_ cheeks flushed red.

"Near..." Linda breathed damply into his ear. "Near, do you want to...?"

_The boy_ nodded eagerly and mouthed, 'Yes! Yes, you do!'

Near stared as _the boy's_ hand started moving slowly against _the boy's_ crotch. He nodded weakly and sighed when Linda pulled away from him and stood up.

She removed her shirt slowly and the dim lights of the library cast abstract shadows against her flesh. He watched her ribs move under her skin as she pulled her shirt over her head.

"I've umm..." Linda mumbled. She bit her lip and her cheeks flushed. "I've never really done this before..."

Near wondered why she chose now to be nervous.

Nodding because he could think of nothing else to do, Near replied quietly, "Neither have I."

Linda's face burned red. "If you don't want to-"

Frowning harshly, _the boy_ made a rude gesture at Linda behind her back.

Near had never seen such an ugly expression on anyone's face before, and replied quickly, hoping that it would go away, "Just do it."

It didn't strike him as odd that he was pleased when Linda did not remove her skirt. He began to feel a strange sense of anticipation as Linda slowly unbuttoned his shirt, stroking every inch of his skin as if she relished it.

_The boy's_ face contorted into a pleasured smirk. He looked at Near over Linda's shoulder, and Near felt slightly self-conscious.

He wanted to hit Linda when she lingered over the zipper of his pants. Her fingers undid it as slowly as was physically possible and her bottom lip was caught between her teeth.

When she finally pulled down Near's pants just far enough, she bit through her lip completely and a small line of blood flowed down her chin.

_The boy _licked his lips. Near thought that it all looked quite delicious.

Linda lowered herself onto Near's lap slowly.

_The boy's_ hand crept under the waistband of his pants.

A poster of Adolf Hitler gazed down at them sternly.

Near wondered perversely if it had felt this good for _the boy_ last night.

It was hot and tight and squeezed him and provided the most glorious friction on Earth. Near decided that sex was not quite as bad as he'd first assumed it to be.

However, when Linda moaned loudly and clutched at his arms desperately, as if she was in pain, Near was tempted to review his evaluation.

His hips thrust upward before he could stop them. Linda moaned again. He kissed her for good measure, his eyes still on _the boy_.

In front of Near, behind _the boy_, were rows of books on the bourgeoisie. He wondered if it was odd to compare sex with Linda to the first time that he had ever read about the French _philosophes_. He remembered being fascinated and delighted to learn something so new and interesting. It had all seemed so important to him, back then. It seemed rather ridiculous, now.

Linda rocked against him in a slightly faltering rhythm.

Maybe sex was better, if only because it was slightly more engaging.

_The boy_ leaned back against the bookshelf. Near watched the boy's hand pump up and down in time with Linda's movements.

His stomach tightened unexpectedly and Linda broke away from his mouth to breathe heavily into his shoulder.

"N-Near," she gasped, her lips brushing against his skin. "Oh God, _Near_..."

She tightened around him, for a few moments, and seemed to spasm. _The boy_ gazed at Near, panting quietly, and suddenly squeezed his eyes shut.

Near forced himself to climax through sheer will. As wonderful as all of this was, it was _Linda_, and he could not help feeling repulsed with what he had just done.

Thankfully, Linda did not try to kiss him again. She dressed, smiled at Near, and left the library.

It occurred to Near, as _the boy_ wiped white liquid from his fingers and onto his jeans, that that was the most irresponsible thing that he had ever done.

The library reeked of sex.

Near avoided the gaze of Adolf Hitler as he made himself presentable and retreated back under the table.

The idea of completing his puzzle suddenly did not seem so interesting.

-----

I listened to 'Jizz In My Pants' by The Lonely Island while writing this.

Dumbest idea I've ever had.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**:If I owned it, you wouldn't believe how much bragging I'd be doing right now.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex...

**Spoilers**: won't work on my phone... Something about there 'not being enough memory'.

**AN**: I don't read through these before I upload them, so there's probably a load of errors in here. I don't really care. If it bugs you that much, pretend that they're doing the polka.

Also, thankyou to Hentai-Otaku for the review and stuff! :D U can has cookie. -gives cookie-

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Four:

_Little did I know that you were Romeo; you were throwing pebbles..._

-----

School days in Wammy's House consisted of four classes and a study period, which were compulsory for all students to attend. Near could remember a total of three times that he had ever missed a day from class, all of which were due to a horrible bout of food poisoning.

As far as Near was concerned, there was never an excuse for missing out on school work. If people had personal problems, they had the weekend and after classes to figure them out. If someone was sick, it was their responsibility to ask the teachers for their work.

There was certainly no excuse for whining about it later.

The library was where Near spent his sick days. Somehow, breathing in the warm, slightly stale air of the library made him feel infinitely healthier.

It was _his_ library, where the sounds of his own coughing and gagging, dulled by the millions of words that surrounded him, did not seem nearly as bad as it should have.

The library was where he could let his guard down, away from the prying eyes of his peers; the library comforted him back to health.

But something was not right.

Near was accustomed to being alone at his table in the library, but someone was singing to themselves as they tossed book upon book to the ground.

If Near was half as socially comfortable as he wished he was, he would have stood up and told them to leave.

Instead, he sat at his table, safe in the knowledge that he would simply rearrange the books later, and toyed idly with a toy car as he read a particularly thick volume on the Congress of Vienna.

He despised being ill. His hands shook when he coughed weakly, and he sniffled pathetically.

The books thudded as they hit the ground.

Near stood up, packed up his things, and left the library. He hated having to leave his sanctuary for any reason, but his head was pounding, and he didn't want to listen as someone mistreated his books.

He made his way to the lake, where he sat under a large tree and breathed in the cool, crisp air.

With a soft sigh, Near slumped against the tree and closed his eyes, driving his car around him absent-mindedly.

"Do you need a tissue?" someone suddenly asked him.

Near looked up at them, and almost sighed when he realised that it was Linda. "No, thankyou," he replied politely.

To his dismay, Linda sat down in front of him and said quietly, "Near, we have to talk."

Near did sigh, then, and drove the car up his leg. "I have nothing to say, but feel free to talk, if that's what you want to do," he responded. His throat burned; he coughed.

Linda reached out and touched his hand. The car came to an abrupt stop.

"You know why we have to do this, Near. Don't pretend that we don't," Linda murmured, her voice shaking. "The other night... Did it mean anything to you at all?" Her eyes looked suspiciously wet, and Near felt a twinge of regret.

Near tugged at his hair with his free hand. He had never felt so frustrated before. "What do you want me to say, Linda?" he asked her, trying to shake off her hand.

Linda was silent for a few moments, staring at their hands. It seemed dark against Near's, but Near knew that that was just because he lacked skin pigmentation.

Near remembered the feel of Linda's smooth, tanned skin moving against his, and wished that he couldn't.

"I... I love you," Linda suddenly whispered, sounding choked. "I love you, Near."

Near snatched his hand away from hers, his skin burning. He knew that she was not lying.

A high-pitched ringing filled his ears. What did she expect him to say?

The car began to move across the ground again when Near said, "I don't love you, Linda."

Linda seemed to deflate. Near thought that she was rather stupid for not expecting this.

Something cold and numb infiltrated his chest. His breathing grew strained.

Linda was in love with him.

"I-I know... I just... I thought... what with last night..." Linda said, sounding hopeless.

Near started making noises under his breath as the car continued on its journey past his foot. "Broom... Broom..." he breathed, trying to calm himself down.

Linda slapped the car away and sobbed, sounding quite deranged, "Sometimes, N-Near, I really _h-hate_ you!"

He was scared to look at her. He imagined that she would be crying again, and did not quite feel up to being honest to her tear-streaked face.

The tree's bark was rough, cool, and littered with vandalism. Near traced the graffiti on it with the tip of his finger when he murmured, "Choose one emotion and stick with it, please," though he wished that he had something - anything - else to say.

Linda made a frustrated noise, turned her back on him, and flounced away from the lake. Her shoes made horrible clacking noises against the stone path. Her pace was slow, as if she expected Near to call after her.

Near picked up his car, drove it across the ground again, and said very firmly, "Broom... Broom broom!"

Linda wept loudly as she all but ran from his sight.

Feeling uneasy, Near hugged his knee to his chest and wondered why he couldn't have just stayed in his library, where he would have been safe.

He was exhausted and upset, and his arm trembled when he skipped a stone across the smooth water of the lake.

The pebble sank after three jumps.

Near leaned against the tree and tried to sleep.

He was almost asleep when a loud splashing roused him.

_The boy_ was at the opposite end of the lake, throwing pebbles into the water. "Hey!" _the boy_ called out once he had realised that Near's eyes were on him. "How do you skip it?"

With a frustrated groan, Near weakly skipped a stone across the lake again. If he satisfied _the boy_, then_ the boy_ would go away.

_The boy_ frowned and walked to Near's side of the lake. "Do it again," he demanded, his hands full of smooth pebbles.

Near sighed as he skipped another pebble across the water.

_The boy _tried to copy him, and frowned when his rock immediately sank to the lake's bottom.

"Look," Near said, slowly demonstrating the movements, "you're trying to throw it. Think of it more as... making it glide across the water's surface."

Nodding thoughtfully, _the boy_ tried yet again. The stone skipped once before it sank.

"Did you see that?!" _the boy_ exclaimed excitedly. "Did you _see_ it?!" He threw his hands into the air, throwing stones all about him.

Near pick up one of them and rolled it between his fingers. "Wonderful," he said. "Really." He put his toy car in his pocket and sighed once more.

_The boy _sat beside him.

"What are you doing?" Near asked. He coughed into his sleeve and wiped away the cold sweat on his brow. He felt feverish.

_The boy_ shrugged defensively and said simply, "I just wanted to see how you are." Near did not reply, and _the boy_ continued, "Have you thought about seeing a doctor?"

Near shook his head minimally.

The pebble in his hands suddenly felt too heavy. His hand fell to the ground and he coughed again.

"You've probably got the flue."

Leaves scratched at the back of his hand. Near's eyelids felt heavy.

"What did that little bitch want today, in the library?" _the boy_ asked far too calmly.

Near closed his eyes and massaged his throat. "Linda is not a little bitch."

"Did she want to fuck you again?" _the boy_ hissed. "She did, didn't she?"

Near's voice was not quite as firm quite as he'd have liked when he replied, "It's none of your business."

Someone breathed slowly into Near's ear. It was hot and moist. _The boy _was far closer than Near remembered.

"None of my business?" _the boy_ repeated disbelievingly. "And last night meant nothing, did it?"

"Was it supposed to mean something?" Near enquired. He sniffled and his head gave a particularly nasty throb. "I don't even know your name," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"'B'," _the boy_ sang, his lips barely touching Near's skin. "'B' for 'better'; 'B' for 'beautiful'; 'B' for-"

Near squirmed when _the boy's _hand came to rest on his knee. "'B' for 'beguiling'?" he suggested breathily.

_The boy's_ giggle was high and chilled Near to the bone. "I saw where your eyes were last night, _Near_," he whispered lowly. He kissed the side of Near's neck.

Near's skin burned. He hated that he tilted his head slightly, trying to tempt _the boy_ into kissing it again.

"You were watching me," _the boy_ - 'B' - continued. "That whole time, you didn't even look at Linda."

Near did not even try to refute B. "Nor did you," he pointed out. "You were watching me, weren't you, when you touched yourself?"

Though he did not like to admit it, Near felt his cheeks burn when B's nails dug into his skin, as if in warning.

"Should I have looked away?" B asked softly. He kissed Near's throat again, and Near made a small noise in the back of his throat.

Near's hands clenched around the pebble.

B smirked against his skin. "You're pretty."

Near stood up abruptly, ignoring the weight in his chest, and said, "That's a matter of opinion."

B stood as well. "You don't believe me, do you?" he asked. He touched Near's barely with the tips of his fingers.

Near flinched and replied frankly, "No, I don't, because you're lying."

Brow creasing, B sighed and traced Near's bottom lip with his thumb. Near drew in a sharp breath.

"You're not quite as pretty as _He_ is, but you'll do," B said softly. Near hated the affection in his voice.

"Leave me alone," Near said; his voice shook. He wondered at the churning in his gut, and slipped the pebble into his pocket.

B shrugged and stepped away. "I don't love you, you know," he stated. "Not like Linda does."

Perhaps what convinced Near the most was the fact that B pulled from his pocket a page that had clearly been torn from Near's favourite book on Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

"I know," Near said softly. His fingers worried at the hem of his shirt.

Something didn't feel right; his chest was far too tight, even considering his cold.

B kissed his cheek softly. It felt warm.

"I just want to fuck you," B continued, as if it needed to be said.

Near nodded. "I know," he repeated.

B kissed his lips, stroking his cheek lightly.

Near's stomach clenched and his fingers twitched feebly.

"You should kiss back, next time," B suggested after he pulled away. He left just as quickly as he had come.

When he was sure that B would not come back, Near reached a trembling hand up to his lips. "Yeah," he whispered to himself. "Next time..."

His heart was racing. Somehow, a promise of just one more kiss seemed far more precious than one of undying love.

He coughed and sat down again. Resting his still-warm cheek in his hand, he stared out at the lake.

The pebble felt like a dead-weight in his pocket.

-----

There's no nice way to say this, so I'm just going to be straight up.

My laptop is a fuckwit. It took me an hour and a half to start it up.

In short: Windows Vista + 512MB RAM = EPIKK PHALE.

I'm pissed off today. My composition for music class - which I've worked on for the past two months - was deleted from the computers, and it's due the day after tomorrow.

Some bitches are gonna get pwned or some shit D:

Hats off to anyone who gets the 'beguiling' thing. I really love that word...

(Thinking of Beyond Birthday as Romeo makes me lol.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**:I own a phone and my right foot.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex...

**Spoilers**: I want an apple-pie from McD's.

**AN**: I should be studying, but I'm not; I'm writing FanFiction, instead.

Be thankful, bitches!

I have a Modern History exam tomorrow. It's okay if I don't study: my teacher orgasms every time I speak.

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Five:

_And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet." And I was crying on the staircase, begging you, "Please don't go..."_

-----

Nights in Wammy's House were cold, dark, and terrified Near. He didn't quite know when his scotophobia had developed, only that he had suffered from it for as long as he could remember.

He hated that he clung desperately to his stuffed bear and stared, wide-eyed, at his room. He hated that his imagination turned even the smallest of shadows into something fearsome.

Most of all, he hated that someone else's company made him feel better.

The library was where Near stayed, most nights. The lights were always on in the library, and he could see everything in the light.

He was safe in the library; the library, his haven, where the sounds of clocks ticking and crickets chirping, dulled by layers of dust and ink, could not transform into a monster.

The library was where he hid away from his own nightmares; the library was his reality.

But something was not right.

It was unusually dark in the library. Several of the light-bulbs were broken.

Near shivered in his seat and tried even harder to concentrate on the words in front of him.

The black script seemed to dance before his eyes in the darkness. He could not focus on the words; they twisted and turned and swam and changed.

"Shit," Near cursed quietly. He wrapped his arms around himself and tugged at his hair.

Shadows crept toward his table.

"Shit," he repeated. He sat up straighter, his back pressed awkwardly against the hard, ungiving plastic of his chair, and looked around the library warily.

A dark figure stepped out of the shadows. Its red eyes seemed to glow.

Near stood up and held his book in front of him, his heart racing. He was supposed to be safe in his library. He was supposed to be okay. Why did these things always have to happen to him?

The figure grinned, its teeth glinting in the dull light, and said, "Hey."

Recognising the voice instantly, Near sighed with relief and replied angrily, "What are you doing here? It's got to be - what - midnight? Go to bed."

B's smile seemed to widen. "You're concerned about me." It was not a question.

"No, I'm not," Near said irritably. "Just leave me alone."

B approached him slowly, his grin fading into a cocky smirk, and cooed, "Oooh! Ickle Near _cares_ about B!"

Near folded his arms and frowned. "Don't delude yourself," he spat. "You're really starting to piss me off. Can't you just leave me alone?"

It somehow upset Near when B winced and asked, "You don't really want me to leave, do you?"

"Yes," Near said, well aware of the fact that he was lying completely. "I'd like to keep reading."

B lowered his gaze to the floor. Near felt his heart clench.

"Roger told me not to talk to you," B admitted quietly. "He said that you 'don't make friends easily' and that I'd just end up getting hurt if we kept spending time together."

Tripping over his own foot, Near spluttered, "W-What?"

With a nod of agreement, B continued, "Yeah, I know. Stupid, huh? I told him to shut up, because you're almost _Him_ and you're so _pretty_ and-"

"Maybe you don't understand," Near interjected. "We're not friends. I don't _want _to be your friend. I just want you to leave me alone."

B walked toward him slowly. "Really?" he asked softly, sounding genuinely saddened.

Something in Near's chest throbbed. He ignored it.

"So... when you saw me that night... it didn't mean anything to you?"

"No, it didn't," Near wanted to reply, but the words stuck in his throat and he could not force them out.

He did not speak, but B seemed to understand well enough.

"Oh," B murmured. "So it _does _mean something to you, after all..."

Near shook his head numbly. He didn't even know B; B meant nothing to him.

With a small smile, B turned around and started walking away.

As soon as he had recovered from the shock of B reading him so easily, Near called out, "Where are you going?"

B shrugged and did not turn around when he answered, "To bed."

Near struggled to find words enough to sum up what he was feeling.

B reached the door and asked, "Is that all?" He still did not turn around.

Near put the book down on his table and walked slowly to B. He wasn't quite aware of what he was doing; it was as if he was seeing it happen through someone else's eyes. He watched as his hand reached up to B's cheek and tilted the boy's face toward his.

B's eyes glinted. Near's breath caught in his throat.

"What are you going to do?" B asked murmured, and the challenge in his voice was barely hidden. His hand came to rest over Near's own. "You've got me right where you want me. What are you going to do now, Near?"

Their breaths mingled. Near could almost taste the sugary jam on B's lips.

"I don't know," Near whispered honestly. He leaned closer and B's fingers tightened around his.

B smiled. "I knew it. You can't do it. I always thought you were-"

He did not get to finish his sentence; Near smothered it with his lips.

Near didn't know what he was supposed to do. With Linda, he had simply followed her lead and pretended to care.

But with B, it was different. Near felt the inexplicable need to impress B with his yet-to-be-discovered prowess when it came to kissing.

B pressed back against him and his teeth grazed Near's lip. Near startled himself by groaning, and his eyes shot open.

What were they doing?

"No," Near mumbled as he pushed B away.

B made a small, disappointed noise and tried to kiss him again. Near turned his face away, and B's lips met his cheek.

It burned; Near's veins seemed to set themselves alight.

"No," he repeated more firmly. "I... can't do this."

He did not know B. B couldn't mean anything to him.

B sighed petulantly and turned his back to Near. "Whatever," he muttered angrily. He opened the door and let himself out of the library.

Long after B had left, Near was still standing in the doorway, staring after him.

Near's eyes seemed to sting. "I just wanted to talk to you..." he tried to say. His voice broke halfway through the sentence; his throat burned.

A poster of Albert Einstein smiled down at him.

Near kicked the wall angrily and cursed when his toe throbbed.

Einstein's smile had never been more patronising.

-----

I've been pretty much basing chapters off of the lyrics, but this wouldn't work for a few obvious reasons. I mean, Near crying and begging Beyond Birthday sounds cool, but, in the scheme of things, it just ain't gonna happen.

So he doesn't do it.

And if you're wondering where Near's real father is... Well, he fell over and died, so he couldn't be here.

So there.

(Near as Juliet almost kills me.)

(Oh, and Near was cured of his illness within the two days that passed. He's got a great immune system, yeah.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**:I've just been told that I don't own my right foot, after all.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex...

**Spoilers**: My internet is being stupid.

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Six:

_And I said, "Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all there's left to do is run..."_

-----

Sundays in Wammy's House marked the weekly anniversary of the students' trip to the church. All of them were required to attend Mass. It all seemed pointless to Near, who was not religious. He felt distinctly out of place in the church, but he went to the service so as to not get in trouble.

There was a large library adjoining the church. It was not nearly as comfortable as the one at Wammy's House, but Near still felt thankful that there was something to make the whole ordeal more bearable.

The church's library was where Near spent his Sundays. Somehow, the familiar smells and books, but entirely new setting put him at ease.

It was not quite _his_ library, where the sounds of children laughing and playing, dulled by wisdom that he could only ever dream of possessing, did not quite reach him, but it was close enough.

The library was where Near felt most comfortable; the library was where he could simply sit and think.

But something was not right.

He was quite accustomed to being the only orphan in the library, as all of the others were still usually in the church.

But someone else was there, sitting across from him, and snacking very loudly from a jar of jam.

Near stubbornly refused to acknowledge them. They touched his knee under the table.

"What are you doing?!" Near hissed furiously. "We're in a _church_!"

B shrugged and squeezed Near's knee. "Technically, we're in a library. It just happens to be part of the church's facilities."

Near pushed B's hand away. "Stop it," he said firmly. "This isn't the time or the place."

B shrugged again and said nonchalantly, "You want to talk to me, so do it, or I'm going to keep going."

Near's cheeks burned. "I don't want to talk to you," he replied smoothly. He gazed at the book in front of him and tapped his foot against his chair's leg.

"I heard you," B admitted after a beat. "The other night. You thought I'd left."

His cheeks flushing darker, Near curled his hair around his index finger and asked, sounding far calmer than he felt, "What were you doing?"

B bit his lip momentarily. Near's foot abruptly fell still.

The phantom feeling of B's lips pressed against his made Near's chest light. The air in his lungs didn't seem sufficient.

"I didn't want to see you. I just wanted to watch you," B said. Near quirked a brow, taking in short, fast breaths. "You're scared of the dark," B added, as if Near didn't already know.

A small frown found its way onto Near's features when he replied quietly, "It doesn't matter." His heart sank.

B smirked. His hand ran higher up Near's thigh.

Near paled.

"It's a normal part of a child's development, you know."

Near nodded weakly, feeling nauseated. B knew about his greatest fault. What would the boy do about it?

Perhaps this would convince B that Near was not worth staying around.

Suddenly, the idea of B leaving did not seem quite as appealing to Near as it had previously.

For one ridiculous moment, Near wanted to cling to B's hand as it slid to his hip to prevent it from leaving him.

Near shook his head to clear his thoughts. He blamed his recent immaturity on the flue.

"Did you want to talk or not?" B asked impatiently.

Near fixed his gaze resolutely on the table - he could not stand to see B's reaction - as he murmured, "I want to know about you. What your favourite colour is, what flavour ice cream you like most, where you'd prefer to spend your time... just things like that."

He felt stupid as soon as he'd said it, and added quickly, before B could answer, "Don't worry about it. It's stupid."

B stood up. Near regretted not holding B's hand while he had the chance.

"I don't think you understand," B said quietly. "I don't want to know you. I just want to screw you. I don't care what your favourite colour is, what flavour ice cream you like most, or where you'd prefer to spend your time."

Though Near had been expecting less, B's words stung. He nodded shakily. He felt as if he couldn't breathe.

B sneered when he went on, "I don't _care_ about you. I don't _need_ to care about you."

Near nodded again, and was unsurprised when B left the library, still smirking.

His chest hurt and he choked on his breath. His eyes burned.

He wondered if B was still watching, and thought that he might as well put on a show.

The tears were hot and unexpected, even as he forced them to form in his eyes.

He could not remember the last time that he had wept. He knew why that was; crying made his eyes hurt and his cheeks turn an ugly, blotchy red.

He looked up at the window and saw the vague outline of a small body through the dark tinting. His smile was full of melancholy and hurt his lips, but the figure moved swiftly away from the window.

Near felt an emptiness settle in the pit of his stomach. He gathered his things and left the library, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

---

That night, as he was getting ready for bed, he noticed a small note on his pillow.

It read:

'Red, strawberry, and with you.'

Near smiled as he got into bed.

-----

I'm supposed to be watching Looking for Alibrandi, but fuck that shit, man. The movie is _bad_.

I'm bored. Perhaps you can tell.

I'm not even sorry if this chapter is shitty. I'm half-asleep, and my math teacher is a tosser.

As for the lyrics? This time, you gotta read between the lines, people.

READ BETWEEN THE GODDAMNED LINES.

Or not.

Whatever.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**:The time of day is not mine.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex...

**Spoilers**: My ear just went numb.

**AN**: I noticed several errors in previous chapters. I'm not fixing them, so just pretend that they're off having a candle-lit dinner with Darth Vader.

Once again, thank you to Hentai-Otaku for reviewing :D

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Seven:

_So I sneak out to the garden to see you. We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew..._

-----

Every year at Wammy's House, several of the more plant-orientated children took a week off to maintain and change the garden. They did the work that the hired gardeners did not: they planted a variety of new species, changed the layout of the garden, decorated the garden with pebbles, benches, and fairy-lights, and picked the most beautiful flowers to put on display.

Near loved his library. He loved to read, immerse himself completely in his favourite book - which happened to be about Napoleon Bonaparte and the Rosetta Stone - and pretend that he was more than an unwanted orphan who did not fit in with his peers.

But something was not right.

The flower display was in the library.

In _his_ library.

The familiar, comforting scent of old books and stale air was replaced with the horrible stench of daisies and roses.

Near felt positively ill.

The library, for once, could not distract him from the rowdy crowd that the children of Wammy's House made; the library, his home, where the sounds of orphans talking excitedly to each other and admiring the gorgeous flowers, not dulled at all by the words on the pages in front of him, distracted him and made him sick.

The library could not hide him from the display and the crowds and the noises; he could not concentrate in the library.

He was somehow completely unsurprised when Linda approached him and shyly handed him one of the flowers that the students were selling.

Near stared at her outstretched hand, nonplussed. What was she hoping to achieve?

When Near did not reach for the flower, Linda said, "I got this for you," as if he had not already figured that out for himself.

He inspected the flower - a rose - and wrinkled his nose. "I'm allergic to it."

"Oh." Linda tucked the flower into her pocket awkwardly and said, "I just want to talk, Near."

Near sighed, closed his book, and set his bored gaze on her. "Go on, then," he prompted.

Linda took a deep breath and asked, her voice high with her anxiety and soft in her hesitance, "Do you care about anyone at all?"

Near spotted a mob of black hair in the crowd of children surrounding the display.

"Yes," Near said without pause. "I just don't want to have sex with everyone I care about."

Linda's eyes widened, and Near wondered what he had said wrong. "So... S-So there's someone else?"

B spotted him and grinned brightly, raising a hand to wave at him. He held up a poppy and mouthed, 'Do you want it?'

Near smiled minimally and shook his head once.

A choked sound suddenly came from his right. He looked at Linda, who was crying almost silently.

"Th-There is, i-isn't there?" she stuttered. "Why c-can't you just l-love _me_?"

Near did not have an answer to that question. He did not try to form one.

As Near stared at B, his cheeks flushing when B glanced back, Linda sobbed, "W-Why won't you j-just answer me?!"

B suddenly smiled, and Near's throat tightened.

He turned around and noticed that Linda was glaring at him. His gut churned unpleasantly.

She knew.

He did not quite know how she knew, or what knowledge she possessed, but she did: it was written across her face like words on a page; it was entirely evident in her pout.

A sudden tension filled the library. Near noticed that the crowd had grown larger.

"That's i-it, isn't it?" Linda asked quietly. "Th-There's someone e-else."

Near didn't know what was happening between B and himself. He would be quite pleased with simply having emotionless sex with B, if it meant that B would smile at him more.

Near bit his lip and averted his gaze. He did not say anything, but that he could not look at Linda was answer enough.

Linda sighed and placed her hand on top of Near's. Near frowned.

Her hands were shaking and her palms were sweaty when she said, "I h-hope you're h-happy with her... b-but just kn-know that she'll n-never love you a-as much as I d-do."

Near, feeling quite disgusted, nodded once more.

Linda smiled sadly as she left.

B chose that moment to arrive at the table. With a nasty glare at Linda, he grabbed Near's arm and kissed the back of his hand. It was not a simple touch of lips to skin; his eyes fixed on Near's, B kissed Near's hand as if he meant more than the etiquette that the gesture suggested - as if he wanted to taste Near's.

B turned away from Linda and greeted Near with a polite, "Hello, Near."

Near's hand tingled. B still held it between his own.

"Hello," Near responded. He wondered if the heat in his cheeks was normal.

B touched his cheek lightly. "You know what I said the other day."

Near nodded, his heart sinking.

"It was true, and I'm not sorry," B stated, though it did not quite seem as if he was trying to remind Near of the fact; rather, that he was trying to reassure Near that it was true. He embraced Near suddenly.

With another nod, Near breathed, "No, I didn't imagine you would be..."

B kissed his cheek, and Near did not try to stop him. "Meet me in the garden tonight, after curfew," B whispered into his ear, nipping at the lobe lightly with his teeth. He placed the poppy in Near's palm and curled Near's fingers around it.

Near shivered. Goose-bumps rose on his skin, and he watched B walk away, his cheek feeling inexplicably hot.

It was with a light heart and an odd fluttering in his stomach that he gathered his things and left the library. He put his things in his room and lied down on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

B did not like him; that much was obvious. B did not care about him. B didn't _want _to care about him.

It made sense.

So why did B ask him to the garden?

Near held the poppy to his chest.

What was B trying to achieve?

The few hours that it took for night to fall upon Wammy's House made Near grow increasingly anxious.

What did B want?

Near did not want to disappoint B, but it seemed unavoidable.

Near's heart was heavy when he ran a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth, and left his room for the gardens.

It was cold outside, and Near thought that perhaps he should have brought a coat with him, but he did not have time to go back and get one. The doors would be locked before he got a chance to get back outside, and he did not want to miss his meeting with B.

He approached the garden slowly, his arms wrapped around himself, and gasped when he saw how much it had been changed.

Previously, the garden had been full of roses, with a bench in the small patch of grass in the middle of the garden. Near had avoided it as best he could, as he was allergic to roses.

But now, several new flowers had been planted, such as poppies and daffodils, and the bench had been moved to sit beneath one of the trees. The whole garden was lit up by fairy-lights that were strewn amongst the trees and bushes.

Amongst the daffodils, with a small bunch of flowers in his hands, stood B.

Near was tentative to label what he felt when he saw B. Perhaps it was apprehension; it would certainly explain the sick churning of his gut. Maybe it was anger; it would shed some light on the racing of his heart and the tightness in his throat. Or it could have been fear; it would make sense, considering the way that mere oxygen did not seem enough: his breath seemed to have permanently left him.

He knew that whatever it was, it could not be considered positive, because he felt quite nauseous and faint.

B was wearing a tuxedo.

"...What...?" Near murmured softly. He stepped slightly closer to B, and noticed that several teeth of a comb were caught in B's hair.

The weight in Near's chest seemed to evaporate, and he laughed, relieved. "You idiot."

B looked offended. "I thought you'd like it," he said apprehensively.

It suddenly occurred to Near that B's face looked unusually pale, even in the dim moonlight. "You're worried," he wondered aloud.

"I just want to get into your pants," B replied, though it was rather too quick and defensive.

Near smiled minimally and said, "Okay."

"I... I saw you crying in the library," B admitted uneasily, his gaze fixed somewhere in the general vicinity of Near's right foot. "You must really like me."

"I don't know you," Near responded. "I can't like you."

He did not mention that he slept with B's note under his pillow, or that the poppy was in a cup full of water on his bedside table.

B frowned. "_Why_?" he asked, sounding unexpectedly frustrated. "Why can't you like me?"

"Didn't I just say why? I don't know you," Near said, feeling no small amount of regret when B pouted and scuffed his shoe in the pebbles.

B held up the flowers, his frown deepening, and said far too calmly, "I got these for you."

Near gazed at the flowers for a few moments and sighed. "I can't take them."

"Why not?!" B demanded, sounding angry.

With a rueful smile, Near responded, "Keep your voice down. I don't want to get caught. And you don't like me, remember? This seems like an attempt to woo me and it's all very romantic, but you don't mean it."

B tugged at his hair, looking vaguely deranged, and spat angrily, "Just shut up! How can you know what I'm thinking?!"

Near bit the inside of his cheek. He somehow did not mind that B had raised his voice again. "So... you _are_ trying to woo me, then."

"What would you do if I said that I am?" B sneered, folding his arms confidently.

Near quirked a brow and answered, "I don't know. Are you?"

B seemed to slump. He picked at the petals of the flowers in the bouquet when he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders childishly, "I don't know. You're pretty. I like you. You should like me, too."

Near wondered it if was odd that he found B's defensiveness and immaturity to be more endearing and romantic than Linda's tears and confessions of love.

A smile tugged at his lips when he pulled the bouquet from B's hands, set it down on the bench, and kissed B's full on the mouth.

He didn't know what he was doing, or why he was doing it at all. He felt light and happy and grateful, and B was laughing, so maybe everything wasn't so bad, after all.

-----

And remember that reviews, while not necessary, are pretty cool.

(Review, or I'll maul you in your sleep.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: I am not the blue of the blackberry.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex...

**Spoilers**: I have a sausage for dinner (:

**AN**: The ending of the last chapter may have seemed abrupt, but it made sense to me, so live with it.

I want a Weighted Companion Cube.

This chapter is shitty. I don't care.

Also, there is vague boy-sex near the end of this. If you don't like that kind of thing, why are you reading this?

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Eight:

_So close your eyes; escape this town for a little while..._

-----

Once a year at Wammy's House, all of the children were given two days off to concentrate on their schoolwork before their exams. Many of them stayed awake for the whole forty-eight hours, revising work that they had covered that year.

Near chose to study in the library. It was familiar and safe: he was completely comfortable in his library.

But something was not right.

Several of the students had decided to study together in groups in the library. As if that weren't bad enough, they were not abiding by the 'silence at all times' rule, and were actively participating in a discussion about soccer or something similarly mundane.

As if to ice the proverbial cake, Mello strode into the library, everything about him seeming to emanate cockiness and pride, and gave Near a crooked smirk.

The library was not enough to distract Near from Mello's sneer; the library, his refuge, where the sounds of Mello commenting on Near's expression while he concentrated, only amplified by the tonnes of information bearing down on him, made him feel suffocated and ill.

The library, for the first time in Near's life, made him want to vomit - it could not hide him from Mello's harsh words and expression; he could not feel safe in the library.

Mello took a seat opposite Near.

Near's gut churned.

For no more than five minutes, they worked in relative silence, Mello occasionally adding to the soccer-conversation and Near playing with Lego as he attempted to concentrate on the book in front of him.

"I heard you screwed Linda," Mello told Near suddenly.

Near somehow had not expected Linda to tell anyone that they had had sex. He had nothing to say, so he did not respond.

Mello smirked crookedly as he continued, "I wasn't really surprised - not about Linda, anyway: she's liked you since we were kids, but you... I always thought you preferred people more similar to yourself."

Near's hand froze. "What are you trying to say?" he asked coldly.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, you little fag." Mello's smirk widened when Near clenched his fingers around a piece of Lego.

He did not have anything to say; he could not pretend that Mello's accusations did not have some basis in truth.

Mello went on cruelly, as if he could not notice the ugly flush spreading from Near's neck to his ears, "I really can't believe you did it with Linda. Were you just using her? Is that it - you couldn't get yourself any guys, so you decided to fuck the only person who would have you?"

Near narrowed his eyes at Mello and said calmly, "If I didn't know any better, Mello, I'd say that you're trying to pass your insecurities and doubts onto someone else."

Mello's cheeks burned red, and Near's heart pounded in his chest.

Surely Mello wouldn't tell anyone.

Near liked Mello. They could've been friends, if not for Mello's ridiculous amounts of motivation and Near's lack thereof.

Mello was smart. Surely he knew how to keep a secret.

"Think what you like, _fag_, but when you're rotting in Hell, I'm not going to pity you," Mello spat.

Near wondered if he was insane to hope for any morality or humanity from someone who hated him.

"This is your own fault. If you touch Linda again, I'm telling her exactly what's going on."

Near sighed and put his Lego down. "And what would that be, Mello?" he asked quietly. "What, exactly, _is_ going on? You're threatening me because you think that I'm gay? Congratulations. Feel free to tell Linda, but when Roger restricts your privileges for the month, you'll have only yourself to blame." He stood up and grabbed his things. "I don't know what Linda's told you and I don't care, but I'd appreciate it if you stopped spreading rumours about me."

He left the library and a Mello gaping behind him.

"Fag!" Mello shouted after him.

Several heads turned toward them. Near sighed as he walked away.

He had never thought about his sexual preference before. It did not seem particularly damning or otherwise, to him. As long as he found someone who liked him for who he was and genuinely enjoyed his company, he didn't care what gender they were.

Near was not generally known for being wrong, but neither was Mello.

Mello had more social experience than Near did. Mello certainly had more knowledge of social rites and rituals than Near did, and he understood consequences in society.

Maybe homosexuality _was_ wrong.

But was Near even gay? Was he just curious? Was he bisexual? Was he simply confused?

Near was not watching where he was going, and he was startled out of his thoughts when he bumped into someone.

"Sorry," he muttered and made to walk past them.

They grabbed his arm. He didn't struggle.

"What did you do to Linda?" they demanded. Near realised that it was Matt who was holding him, and sighed again.

Near wondered why everyone cared so much about what he and Linda did in their free time. "We had sex," Near answered, "though I hardly see how it concerns you."

Ultimately, it didn't shock Near when Matt punched his nose.

Matt slammed him against the wall and growled fiercely, his eyes narrowing to slits, "Touch her again and I'll _kill_ you!"

"W-Why do you care?" Near asked thickly. He wanted to reach up a hand to stem the flow of blood from his nose, but had a feeling that Matt would not appreciate it.

Matt made an odd sound in the back of his throat and hissed, "Shut the fuck up! Why do you just _use_ people all the time?! What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!"

The blood tasted awful as it ran down the back of Near's throat. He cringed after he swallowed, and asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb. You know how she- how she feels about you," Matt snarled. "Just- Just shut up and leave her alone!"

Near's throat tightened and his mouth ran dry. He felt Matt's words as distinctly as if they'd been a slap to his cheek. "I- Matt, I'm not-"

Matt hit him again, and Near was horrified to notice the moisture on Matt's cheeks.

"I'll leave her alone," he promised numbly. He would have promised anything if it meant that he did not have to face any more tears. "I won't have anything to do with her."

Matt looked relieved as he walked away, and Near felt guilt churn in his gut.

He reached up to touch his nose, and winced when his fingers met a mess of swollen flesh and damp blood. "_Wonderful_," he muttered to himself.

As he walked toward his room, hiding his nose behind his hand, he walked past Linda, who gave him a dirty look.

Why did everyone seem to think that he was a bad person for engaging in completely consensual sex? He had not hit Linda. He had not called her anything offensive. He had not lied to her, or given her false hope.

Why was it his fault that Linda was upset?

Near cursed under his breath and lie down on his bed when he reached his room.

He thought about Mello as he bandaged his nose and changed out of his dirty clothes.

Was Mello right? Did Near_ deserve_ to be shunned and ridiculed? Was it all his own fault?

Near's chest tightened. What if it really wasn't okay to be who he was? But who would that make him? Who was he?

Was he Near, the gay boy who had sex with Linda to relieve sexual tension?

Was he Near, the bisexual boy who had sex with Linda because he was attracted to her?

Was he Near, the bi-curious boy who had sex with Linda simply to see what it would be like?

Was he Near, the straight boy who had sex with Linda because he genuinely liked her?

Was he Near, the boy who was entirely uninterested in sex at all, and who had sex with Linda in an attempt to make her go away?

Near's head throbbed and his eyes started to sting. He wondered if the self-pity that burned his throat made him a bad person, or if it was his ambiguous sexuality that condemned him.

"Why does this shit always have to happen to me?" he asked no one in particular.

The various toys in his room did not reply, but he had not expected them to.

However, he was so startled that he knocked over a pile of books beside his bed when someone replied, "Because you deal with it better than most other people could."

Near sat up in his bed and stared out at the balcony, where B stood, the wind whipping his hair about his face as the sun set behind him.

Near wondered if he had ever seen anyone so beautiful in his whole life.

When B turned around, gave him a quizzical look, and asked, "Why are you staring at me?", Near decided that it didn't matter, in the long run, who was more beautiful than B, because Near was sure that he would never meet them.

Near's gut clenched. He had admired B. Surely these were not heterosexual thoughts.

Chewing on his lip, Near stood up and made his way to the balcony.

"Well?" B asked impatiently.

From his balcony, the Wammy's grounds looked small and insignificant to Near. He held up his thumb and forefinger, and pressed them together around the distant shape of a child playing.

He wished that his problems were that easy to solve.

"Is... something wrong?" B asked hesitantly.

Near refused to meet B's gaze when he murmured, "You're beautiful."

B's hand slipped from the rail. "What?"

Near shrugged and tugged at his hair. "It's what I was thinking when I was staring at you, before. I thought, 'There is a very beautiful person - the most beautiful person I've ever seen - standing on my balcony, waiting for me. And he's another boy.' Does that make me weird?" He sounded calm, despite the sizeable lump in his throat. His hands shook when he rested them on the rail.

There was a pregnant pause before B responded quietly, "You're not a bad person because you think that I'm beautiful. I've called you pretty heaps of times."

Near shook his head. His hair stung his eyes, and he blamed the cold wind for the moisture that welled in his eyes. "It's... not the same," he said.

He wished that B would look at him and see more than a small albino with meticulously clean clothes. He certainly saw more in B than a teenager with pale skin, dark hair, and red eyes.

B, to Near, was more than 'beautiful', 'best', or 'beguiling', no matter how much he denied it: to Near, B was for 'bewildering' and 'beatific' and 'bewitching'.

"Who would you rather see, Near?" B asked, sounding frustrated. "Would it somehow make you feel better if I had boobs?"

Near watched the sun sink lower on the horizon. "It's not who I'm seeing that's the problem. Who do _you_ see?"

He was thankful that B did not try to touch him.

Instead, B leaned heavily against the railing, licking jam from his fingers for a few moments, before he replied, "You're pretty, and I-"

"Could you just be honest?" Near interjected, feeling ridiculously annoyed and upset and confused.

B's fingers were soft and light when they trailed up Near's spine. "I don't know," B said softly.

Near glared at the darkening grounds below him. "How can you not know?"

B shrugged slightly. His fingers moved up Near's sides and touched his neck lightly. B repeated, "I don't know." His cool hands massaged Near's scalp gently. "You're upsetting yourself over nothing."

Near tried to push B's hands away and snapped, "Let go of me."

"No," B answered simply, his breath warm in Near's hair, and then, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Near turned to face B, half expecting B to step away and apologise. He felt angry and confused, and found that he did not like having no control over his emotions and thoughts.

B's arms slipped to Near's waist and hugged him close. Near was somehow not surprised at all.

"Do you trust me?" B asked quietly, sounding almost as if he dreaded hearing the answer.

Near shrugged into B's chest and murmured, "Should I?"

B held Near tighter and admitted, "Probably not."

Near found himself grinning, his lips pressed awkwardly to the coarse fabric of B's shirt. His heart felt light, and his hands shook.

He felt almost painfully happy, and he didn't even know why.

Perhaps it was B's honesty, or maybe it was the fact that B was being so open; it might have even been simply because B was holding him.

B's hands were on his shoulders, massaging with utmost care, and Near leaned more heavily into B's chest.

"Do you trust me?" B repeated softly.

Near frowned when he replied, "I don't know."

He had barely a second to glance at B's face before something cool and smooth descended over his line of vision.

"Close your eyes," B said, suddenly much closer than Near remembered. "Just trust me."

Near did not have time to nod or otherwise; B's lips were on his almost instantly, and kissing suddenly didn't seem so useless and awkward to Near.

B's hands seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, all at once. Near could feel them on almost every inch of his skin, touching and caressing and almost bruising, sometimes, but it did not seem like enough, and Near ghosted his hands over B's. He didn't quite know what to do.

"Near," B breathed when Near slipped and dug his fingernails into B's hip, and, somehow, it sounded far more erotic than anything else that Near had ever heard.

It was over far too quickly for Near: hands wandered for what seemed like seconds and then B was moaning and Near slumped to the stone floor of his balcony, shaking and barely breathing.

Regardless of how elated he felt, the uncomfortable weight in his stomach kept Near grounded.

In the split-second that he'd had to look at B and try to read the boy, B had been frowning, and, though B's face was slack and sated now, an image of the ugly crease in B's brow and the frustrated twist to his lips seemed to have burned itself into Near's retina.

As he shifted slightly and brushed his fingers against B's as inconspicuously as he could, Near hoped that he never had to see that expression on B's face again.

-----

I just cut the inside of my mouth on a potato chip D:

Woah. MattxLinda. Don't know where that one came from.

99 Luftballons is the greatest song ever.

You know when your eyes water because the wind is really strong? That happened to me today. Hurt like a bitch, too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: I write sins, not tragedies, folks.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex... DEATH! I didn't even plan on this happening, but it fits rather well. So, just a warning: there's dead bodies in this one, and it will definitely creep some people out.

**Spoilers**: My glasses are hurting my face.

**AN**: Woah. Nine chapters already.

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Nine:

'_Cause you were Romeo; I was a scarlet letter..._

-----

Every week at Wammy's House, on the last day of the school week, the older students were given the choice of staying at Wammy's for their last class or going out to explore Winchester. Most of the students did not stay for their last period; Near was one of only four students who regularly chose to stay at Wammy's House.

None of the teachers saw a point in holding their last class on Friday, considering the poor attendance rates, so anyone who attended was told to spend their time elsewhere.

Near enjoyed this time to himself immensely. There was no one to interrupt him in his library, and, as he pulled his favourite volume on the Concert of Europe down from a shelf, Near let his expression relax into a content smile.

He took pleasure in simple comforts: reading a book that he knew off by heart made his smile widen.

But something was not right.

The library was never completely devoid of other people, except at night-time, but Near was used to having no company on Friday afternoons.

However, strange, choking noises were coming from the Physics section of the library. When they finally stopped, Near, curious as to what had been making the noise, crept around three shelves, turned left, and crouched down behind a row of books so that he could see what it was.

The library, regardless of how quiet and secluded it was, was generally not regarded as a prime area for participating in acts that would generally be frowned upon by the Wammy's staff; the library, the one place where Near felt that he belonged, where the sounds of someone gagging, dulled only barely by thick rows of books, made Near feel little more than inconvenienced.

The library was where Near spent his free time; it was his home.

And someone was intruding on that, the noose tied to one of the rafters in the roof and around their neck drawing a severe line through Near's perfectly calm reality.

Everything seemed hazy as Near stumbled toward the boy hanging from the ceiling, their gagging having long since quieted from the occasional gurgle to complete silence.

Near was as apprehensive as he was curious.

The boy's face was already draining of all colour; his eyes were glassy and only the white sclera of the eyeball was visible; his body was completely limp, and Near cringed when it occurred to him that every muscle in this boy's body had already relaxed.

Near had never seen a cadaver before. He had read about them, certainly, and glanced at them in photographs, but he had never seen one in the flesh.

He knew this boy. They had studied together on several occasions, and this boy - Alex - had been very kind and polite.

Near was not aware of moving - he only knew, in one belated moment of realisation, that he was standing on a table, almost nose to nose with the boy. He could feel nothing from the body: no warm breath on his face, no steady rising and falling of its chest - nothing.

It was almost intoxicating and Near, for a moment, wanted to touch it. He wanted to feel Alex's still form against him; he wanted to see death, feel it, hear it, smell it, _taste_ it, let it encompass him so completely that, for only one, singular moment, he, too, might feel the blessed oblivion that Alex had been granted.

Near's hand hovered over the body's chest for a second. He could wrench this boy's heart from his chest without resistance; as little resistance as skin and flesh and ribs proved to be, in any case.

He had never before experienced the sudden, all-encompassing _power_ that surged through his veins, or the knowledge that he could do anything to this boy - anything at all - and the boy had no way of stopping him.

He could do anything that he wanted.

The body was nauseatingly limp. Its eyes were half-lidded, and Near's fingers paused before them. He didn't know whether he wanted to close its eyes or open them completely and stare death straight in the face.

Near gazed at the cadaver: he observed its grey skin, its limp limbs, its pallid face, its full, bloodless lips, and gingerly opened its eyes with the very tip of his fingers, staring straight back into its blank, lifeless gaze.

It was terrifying, as much as Near hated to admit it. He was scared. He had pictured death to be glorious freedom, not swaying limply from a library ceiling and being thoroughly inspected by a curious orphan.

Though he felt vaguely ashamed of himself, he examined the body further, awkwardly glancing-but-not at its semi-erection. It was common amongst early post-mortem males, but Near's cheeks heated up regardless of the scientific evidence.

It lasted barely a second, but Near could have sworn that the cadaver's chest moved against his, that it drew in a rasping breath, and Near's heart raced, the nausea curling in his stomach mingling with the sharp, almost painful flare of hope in his chest.

At Wammy's House, the students were told from an early age that they could achieve anything.

Near hesitantly met the body's lifeless gaze, and could not deny that he felt helpless and completely out of his league.

He reached up to touch Alex's face. His mouth was curled up into a morbid smile, his lips stretching across his teeth so tightly that it appeared painful. The body was still warm, and Near's fingers came back moist. He wiped them on his jeans, disgusted.

Near asked rather pointlessly, "Are you still alive?"

The boy did not respond. Near had not expected him to.

Near touched the boy's hands, cringing when the whole body swayed. "No defensive wounds. Suicide, then."

He sighed. The library would have to be closed for the investigation.

"I hope you're happy," he told the body sternly. "Now the library's going to be closed. Did you think about how this could impact other people? No, you didn't. Now look where it's got you. In a few days, you're going to be on a coroner's table, dissected like an animal."

The corpse shook with spasmodic jerks for a few seconds, and clutched at Near's hand in desperate cataleptic rigidity.

"Hmm... Cadaveric rigor. You haven't been dead for very long," Near pondered as he removed his hand from the body's and jumped easily from the table. "Well, I'm going to find Roger, and the police will be here shortly to escort you to the hospital, I suspect."

The body stared at him.

Near shrugged. "You didn't say goodbye, Alex, so don't expect me to sympathise. I hope you realise how selfish you were."

He walked to Roger's office, his mind oddly blank.

Somehow, he had expected his first encounter with a dead body to be more exciting. Perhaps if there had been blood and pieces of brain littering the floor, he could believe what had just happened.

Alex did not look _dead_. He looked asleep, or very still, but certainly not dead.

Near knocked politely on Roger's office door, before opening it anyway.

"Near!" Roger said, clearly surprised, as he looked up from the book that he was reading. "What are you doing here?"

Near glanced around Roger's office. He wished that he had a toy with him. "It would seem that Alex has hung himself from the library's ceiling."

Roger dropped his pen and exclaimed, "What?! When did this happen?! Oh God - were you the one who found him? Is there a crowd?"

"Alex hung himself from the ceiling of the library about... fifteen to twenty minutes ago, from what I can tell. I found him a few minutes ago, and no one else knows that he is there," Near replied.

He wondered where in the world his sudden calm was coming from.

Roger pulled on his coat, muttering to himself under his breath. From what Near could tell, it consisted of the same word - 'shit' - repeated over and over.

Near had never heard Roger curse before, and perhaps it was that that startled him out of his stupor.

Alex was dead.

Near had just seen a dead body. He had seen it, spoken to it, and touched it.

He stared at his hands and quickly put them over his mouth, barely making it to Roger's private bathroom before he vomited.

"Oh God," he whispered to himself when he finally stopped retching. "O-Oh my God."

He had seen a dead body. He had _felt_ it.

He stumbled to the sink, where he scrubbed at his hands. He could still feel it on him: the body swaying and hanging lifelessly, empty and lifeless.

"I t-touched it," he stuttered disbelievingly, barely coherent. "I-I _touched_ it."

It did not seem like simply curiosity any more, but something much more perverse.

Near gagged.

He could vividly imagine Alex's body metres below the ground - probably only two and a half or so - decaying in its coffin and slowly putrefying. Its flesh would eventually fall from its bones, before rotting away, and people would think that paying their respects to a stone that was inscribed with Alex's name would somehow paramount the fact that Alex had taken his own life.

As far as Near could tell, suicide was simply cowardly - or, at least, he had thought so before.

How could he possibly think the same way now?

It seemed so drastic, and yet so simple.

Near imagined how easy it would be to kill himself. There would be a few moments of hesitance before and eternity of _nothing_, and some poor student would have to find his body, just as Near had found Alex's, though Near doubted that Alex had spared him any thought before his death.

How easy it would be...

And yet, Near could not imagine himself in those few moments of indecisiveness. He could not envision himself standing before a noose, or with a knife in his hand or a gun to his temple, hesitating in his final moments of life.

Had Alex been unsure? Had Alex's hands trembled as he tied the noose; had his legs shaken as he stepped onto the table to fix the rope to the ceiling? Had he spared one last glance around the library, taking in all of the books and posters and diagrams with fond memories of each, or had he rushed in his nervousness and simply _done it_?

If there was one thing that Near hated, it was not understanding.

He walked toward the library almost reluctantly. He did not want to see Alex again, though he had no choice.

When he reached the library, he was surprised to find that it was completely undisturbed. The only thing that gave away Roger's presence in the room was the man's cane, resting against the table above which Alex still hung. Everything looked relatively the same as it had when Near had left.

Except that there was someone else on the table.

Near knew who it was instantly, and their delayed greeting did not surprise him.

"Oh, hey," B greeted, surprised. "Didn't think you'd be here." His gaze was fixed intently on Alex. He licked jam from his fingers.

Near felt angered, though he didn't quite know why. His hands itched to knock the jar of jam from B's.

"You're the one who found him, right?" B asked, sounding as if he was not referring to a body, but to something as mundane and worthless as a lost toy. He did not wait for an answer, and continued, "He's kind of pretty, huh? Not quite as pretty as you, but not too bad..."

Near watched, horrified and sickened, as B affectionately trailed his fingers along Alex's jaw-line.

"What- What are you doing?" Near asked hoarsely, though he knew exactly what was going to happen.

He felt furious and repulsed and jealous and enraged all over again.

With a curious expression on his face, B cupped the body's cheek in his hand and pressed its lips to his, his eyes still staring intently into Alex's.

Near grew progressively more nauseated as B held Alex's body against his, moving against it so slightly and subtly that Near wasn't sure if it was happening at all.

"St-Stop it," Near rasped, feeling vaguely aroused and completely repulsed by himself and B.

B kissed Alex's neck and gazed up at Near, his eyes seeming brighter than ever before. Near shivered and found that he couldn't turn away.

"Why?" B asked, sounding entirely, inappropriately innocent.

Near's hands curled up into fists. He had never hit anyone in his life, but he had never felt quite so tempted to try it before.

B pulled away from Alex's skin with a sick 'chu'. "I saw you before," he said, smirking. "You were touching Alex and staring at him and talking to him and you were so _curious_. You thought about it, didn't you?"

Near's cheeks burned.

"You thought about it, because Alex can't push you away," B went on, his voice growing softer and harsher. "He made a move on you, once, didn't he?"

It was not worth denying. Near chewed on the inside of his cheek. "You were there?"

B's smirk grew wider. He turned around on the table, Alex's body swinging behind him, and touched Near's face. "I watch you, Near," he murmured, tilting Near's chin upward so that their eyes met, no matter how reluctant it was on Near's part, "when you're sleeping, when you're awake..."

Near's hands were unexpectedly weak when he tried to push B's away from him. He felt as if he was going to be sick, even though there was nothing left in his stomach, and he was so dizzy that he almost fell.

B leaned closer, until Near could almost taste his breath - stale and sweet and echoing the emptiness that pervaded Alex's body against Near's lips - and whispered, "And especially when you don't know it. Nothing escapes my eyes. He was watching you, too, but it doesn't matter. He's out of the way, now."

There was something about the way that B said it that sent cold chills up Near's spine.

He let B kiss him, though he felt far too ill to return the gesture. He could still see the body over B's shoulder.

"_He's out of the way, now..._"

Near didn't know when he started trembling, but found that he couldn't stop. "Stop it," he weakly demanded once more, trying to push B away again.

B sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "What now?"

"W-What did you do to Alex?" Near asked, though he knew that he didn't want to know the answer.

B smiled suddenly. "It doesn't matter. He's gone, now."

Near felt inexplicably enraged when B tried to kiss him again.

"B," Near said, shaking his head and slapping B's hands away, "_what did you do to him_?"

He knew that B's next words would be lies before B even opened his mouth.

With a frustrated noise, B answered impatiently, "I didn't actually _do anything_. Alex didn't want to be L. He wasn't dealing with the pressure very well."

Near did not believe B at all, though he could not see why B would have done anything to Alex. Then again, did B even need a reason?

He did not resist when B kissed him once more. He could taste everything that was B, and something distinctly different.

He looked up at Alex and uttered an apology in his mind, clenching his eyes shut so that he didn't have to see the body any more.

B kissed Near's neck and whispered, "I'm sorry," against Near's skin, repeating it again and again until the words lost their meaning entirely and it sounded to Near as though B was simply trying to reassure himself that everything was okay.

Though Near did not sympathise with B at all, he hesitantly held the boy closer, his whole body shaking.

He didn't care what B had done. He didn't care why B had done it. They were both shaking, and then B was crying and Near was holding him closer, both of them clutching desperately at one another.

"O-Oh God..." B sobbed into Near's shirt. "I'm s-sorry. He was s-so scared; h-he was c-crying, and I... I-I'm so s-sorry..."

Near could not decipher B's cryptic words and found that he didn't care to; he just hoped that Roger returned soon.

-----

**ATT**: The following ANs are actually relatively important (not the first so much, but definitely the second.)

So read them, bitches.

**I. **Hmmm... I wasn't very consistent with the description of the dead body, I know. The time-frames are all out of whack, but come on. How many of you have actually seen a dead body? Who's gonna Google this stuff to find out the exact time-frames? Well, kudos to anyone who does, because I'm far too lazy to. This is all stuff that I'm trying to remember from early last year, when I was particularly interested in medical sciences, so forgive me: my memory isn't exactly perfect, although it's pretty damn close.

**II.** And shit, man.

This thing is turning into a particularly bad episode of Days of Our Lives.

I interpreted the 'scarlet letter' part of the lyrics as a reference to Hester Prynne from Nathaniel Hawthorne's book 'The Scarlet Letter'.

The book deals with issues regarding adultery, sin, guilt, and legalism. The first thing that popped into my head when I thought about all four of those was _not_ necrophilia - as I recall, it was a horror film. No, it was actually something pertaining to sexual preference or something similarly clichéd. I booted that idea pretty quickly, though, so I was writing with no idea of where I was really going with it, and this is what happened. I in no way at all think that necrophilia is something to be admired: I think that it is disgusting and depraved. Just the thought of it makes me quite ill.

So why did I write it? Simple. I was so tired that I couldn't concentrate, and this is what happened. It fit into what I thought that chapter should include, so I didn't change it.

**tl;dr** - I didn't mean for the necrophilia to happen. It just... did. The hoodoo trance took me, Vince.

I could've written this so much better, but I didn't, so deal with it.

Maybe you should deal with it. Maybe you should deal with it the same way you dealt with Curly Jefferson.

(Anyone who understood the references above gets four internetz.)

**III.** This is a _dark _story, I've decided, and it will not have a conventional happy ending. I mean, it's not exactly going to be a tragic, tear-jerking end, but it won't leave people grinning ecstatically and sighing, "Oh, I'm so happy that B and Near married and had three perfectly healthy children, even though that kind of thing is impossible! The world is such a wonderful place!"

Just thought I'd warn you guys, though I suspect that it was obvious from the start (:


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: This is a slashing sword.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex, and references to death, suicide, and necrophilia...

**Spoilers**: La mer (:

**AN**: Wow. You wouldn't believe how surprised I am about how many people seem to like reading this piece. I always thought that BxNear was quite an unpopular fandom...

So this is one big, fat thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story, put it on their favourites list, or put it on their story alert list.

I'm extremely impressed with myself.

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Ten:

_And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet." But you were everything to me: I was begging you, "Please don't go..."_

-----

Every few years or so at Wammy's House, there was a particularly bad injury or even a death, and every student was required to sign either a 'get well' card or a remembrance scrapbook, regardless or whether or not they were sincere.

Near had witnessed eight children fall so ill or injury themselves so badly that they had to be hospitalised, during his stay at Wammy's House, and only three of those had died - one was from leukaemia, one was from a fall from the balcony on the third floor and broken their neck, while the other was from a particularly bad bout of the measles.

As was customary, Near politely signed the book for Alex, though he lingered for a moment over the page.

What was he supposed to say?

He had liked Alex well enough: they had gotten along well. Alex was just as smart as Near was, and simply conversing civilly had been fun.

Was he supposed to apologise?

He felt guilty enough to. Though he knew that, realistically, he could have done nothing, he had been mere metres away from where Alex had hanged himself. If he had just turned around and let his curiosity get the better of him only minutes earlier, he could have saved Alex's life.

But he had not.

Even worse, he had inspected Alex's body as if it was nothing more than a scientific specimen to be poked and prodded. He had stood by and watched as B had defiled the cadaver.

He could not stop thinking about the expression that B had worn when he'd kissed Alex, and didn't that make him a horrible person? He could not stop thinking about whether B looked quite as ecstatic when _they_ were kissing.

His mind wandered further: he could not stop thinking about what would have happened if he had not stopped B when he had.

Guilt weighed down on his shoulders like lead.

What could he possibly say?

Near did not like these times, where he had to write something that was ultimately insincere and false. His apology would look cheap in comparison to his feelings, and he did not want to patronise Alex in death.

After many moments' contemplation, Near wrote neatly, 'I hope that you're happier in death than you were in life,' regardless of how ridiculously empty it sounded, and passed the scrapbook along to the next unfortunate soul who had to sign it.

Linda cringed as she took the book from Near's hands, her eyes wet and her make-up running.

For a second, Near wanted to hold her. He wanted to comfort her with lies that they both knew would change nothing.

It was almost as if Linda expected him to, as well, as she held her hand over his for a second too long.

He did not move.

The moment passed: Linda turned away and Near's heart-beat was loud in his ears.

When every child had signed the book, they were all free to go. The student body left the large hall, a sombre mood following them like a black storm cloud.

Students gathered together in clusters, most of them reminiscing between sobs.

Near had no one to turn to. Mello would mock him, Roger had no time for him, and he had not seen B all day, though he wasn't quite sure as to whether or not he actually wanted to see B.

The library was cold and smelled strongly of harsh cleaning products. Near sat at his table, feeling distinctly out of place next to the red, blue, and white police-tape that blocked him off from half of the library's resources.

Though he was by no means comfortable, he felt relatively at peace and found that if he could focus on the pages in front of him, he need not think about Alex any more than he had to.

He could have spent hours in the library, reading mindlessly and, in his own way, grieving.

But something was not right.

The library was not a place that many students chose to grieve in - indeed, barely thirty students were willing to enter the library at all, and only a fraction of those wanted to see the place where Alex had hanged himself; the library, in which Near's guilt made his gut churn and bile rise in his throat, where the sounds of whispering and crying, dulled by the ringing in Near's ears, made Near feel uncomfortable.

The library was as populated as Near had ever wanted it to be; it was perfect.

But he could not relax.

He did not feel at ease. He could not concentrate.

He shifted his gaze to one of the tables on the other side of the police-tape.

It had happened there: not there, exactly, but on top of the table. B had kissed Alex. Near had watched. He had _watched_ and daydreamt about it for hours.

Students were whispering amongst themselves only metres away from him.

He had never felt so alienated in his life.

Linda stood in front of him, wringing her shirt between her hands. "I know that you don't want to talk to me, Near," she said nervously, "but I just..." She choked and wiped at her eyes quickly. "I just miss talking to you."

He watched her for a few seconds. She closed her eyes and took several deep gulps of air, her eyes brimming with yet more tears.

Near turned away from her when he murmured in a way that he hoped was soothing, "I... don't mind." He hesitantly met her eyes.

In a matter of a few, silent moments, they seemed reach some kind of understanding.

Linda sat down in his lap and hugged him, weeping into his shirt disjointed phrases that made no sense to him.

He pretended to listen, and petted her back occasionally.

"G-God, I h-hate you," she hiccupped suddenly. "You're n-not upset at a-all."

He did not tell her that he spent most of the previous nights in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling and making himself sick with guilt, or the fact that he spent the majority of Alex's death-date vomiting and pitying himself.

Instead, he nodded and asked, "Why would I be upset?"

Linda shuddered but said nothing.

They sat there, holding one another, for what might have been an eternity, or maybe only a few minutes, before Linda stood up and brushed imaginary dirt from her clothes.

"I'm going to bed," she stated.

"Okay," Near responded. He wasn't entirely sure as to what she wanted him to say.

With a deliberate glance at his shirt, she suggested, "Maybe you should come with me. I got make-up on your clothes."

Upon realising that black smudges were streaked across his chest, Near wondered why Linda insisted on wearing so much of the stuff, and said, "I'm sure I can live with it."

Linda left quickly, her cheeks a bright pink. Near felt a distinct sense of loss.

Though he itched to take off the dirty garments and bathe, Near did not want to leave to his room; he wanted to stare at the noose that still hung from the roof for a while longer.

He tried to ignore it for as long as he could, but, eventually, he was overcome by the urge to take in deep breaths of fresh air, and chose to sit at a table closer to the windows.

The make-up on his shirt made him feel anxious.

It wasn't _clean_.

He gazed at _the table_'s reflection behind him, in the window. Near could still see Alex's body hanging from the ceiling, its face tinged blue: the most obvious sign of livor mortis.

How could he not have noticed Alex walking into the library with a noose in-hand? How could he have possibly missed that?

It wasn't entirely his fault - he was well-aware of the fact that blaming himself completely would be arrogant and presumptuous of him - but he could have done something.

He could have done _anything_.

But he had not.

In fact, he had stood by and watched B defile Alex's body.

For a moment, he could have sworn that someone else took Alex's place, hanging from the ceiling, completely still in death. Maybe it was a trick of the light; Near looked back at the noose, and it was empty.

Near shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.

B's face suddenly appeared in the window in front of him, and Near jumped in his chair, startled.

He cracked opened the window and asked quietly, "What are you doing?"

B shrugged dismissively and touched the glass of the window. "I've missed you," he murmured. "How have you been?"

The anger seemed to come from nowhere. Near balled his hands into fists, his mouth set in a thin line.

He felt sick.

_B's lips were pressed to Alex's._

"Don't give me that bullshit," Near hissed. "Where have you been?" He scowled and curled his hair almost violently.

It seemed to upset B; he chewed on his bottom lip hesitantly. "You don't want me around anymore," he replied after a lengthy pause.

Near's scowl deepened when he said angrily, "Don't screw with me. Give me a straight answer or leave me alone."

B recoiled slightly. "So you _do_ want me, then?" he asked, clearly confused.

Near found that he could not answer B's question, and that he didn't care to at all.

_B moaned; his fingers crept up the edges of Alex's shirt._

Bile rose in Near's throat.

He wanted to see B. He had missed B almost as much as he was scared to see him.

"Look, it doesn't matter," B said, pressing his hand more firmly against the window. "Will you come outside and see me?"

Laughter bubbled in Near's throat unexpectedly. It hurt when he giggled quietly into his hand and asked incredulously, "Meet _you_ outside? Why don't you just come in here? Am I really that repulsive to you?" His laughter stopped just as suddenly as it had started.

Was that why B had not visited him?

Near's heart ached. He felt as if he was going to vomit.

B looked slightly shocked. "You think that's it?" he enquired. "You think that you're repulsive?"

Near nodded curtly. His chest felt tight and he just wanted to leave.

He wondered if B would follow him if he did.

"Are you _stupid_?" B exclaimed. "You think _that's_ why I didn't come and see you? You're such an _idiot_!"

Near glared at B. He did not appreciate being called unintelligent, when it was obvious that he was anything but that.

"Well, you're not shedding any light on the situation," he replied, his voice shaking slightly.

B seemed to calm down suddenly, and said softly, "Oh, you're so upset... God, I should've come to see you..."

"Yes, you should have," Near agreed, his voice tight, "but you didn't."

Looking appropriately ashamed of himself, B refused to meet Near's eyes when he mumbled, "I was scared. The cops came to talk to me. They think I killed Alex or something. They told me not to talk to associate with anyone so that I couldn't get anyone to cover for me, or something. I was in isolation."

Near did not like to admit that the police obviously shared his most private thoughts.

"But I didn't do it!" B reassured quickly. "I didn't do anything to him! He was just... He was sad and I asked him what was wrong and he said, 'Everything is wrong,' and I told him, 'Maybe you should take a break.' Then he said, 'I can't afford a break,' so I said, 'Sounds like it's a lot of work,' and he said, 'Yeah,' and- and what could I have done?!" B tugged at his hair, his eyes wide and reflected every bit of the guilt and shame that had kept Near awake lately at night, and Near felt all of the anger leave him.

Near felt as if he was belittling Alex's death and the disgusting things that B had done to the boy's body when he said softly, "I didn't know..." He did not forgive B, but he pressed his hand against B's through the glass. "You should've said something..."

He did not feel entirely at ease around B - how could he? - but his anger and the sense of betrayal that had plagued him for days seemed to drain out of him.

He had been wrong. B had not left him, after all.

He wondered if he had ever hated himself more and decided that it didn't matter: he had missed a boy who had _touched a dead body_.

Or perhaps B _had_ left: B stepped away from the window and shook his head. "Didn't you hear me before?" he asked.

_B was thrusting against Alex's body. Awful, gurgling noises were escaping Alex's lips as the built up saliva and oxygen in his lungs rattled._

Near's irritation seemed to return to him all at once. "Where are you going?" he demanded. "You're not leaving."

He did not want B to stay with him for some kind of desire to spend time with the boy; Near just didn't trust B around anyone else.

"What do you want me to do, Near?" B asked, sounding frustrated and trapped. "What do you want me to say?"

Near stood up and shot back, "Oh, _I don't know_. An apology would be nice." He didn't want to argue, but the words would not stop coming. "Four days, B - four days! I found a _dead body_! Why can't you just-..." He stopped himself before he could say something stupid. "Doesn't it matter what I want?" he asked, sounding far calmer.

B frowned. "You just don't get it, do you? I don't _need_ you! There's no reason for me to stick around at all - you won't even let me fuck you!"

Near's cheeks burned. Though he knew that what B said was true, he had been expecting something more. He didn't know what, but that he was being flat-out rejected made him ashamed of himself.

He had no right to expect anything from B: B had made his intentions quite clear.

"If you don't need me, then leave me the _fuck_ alone!" Near spat.

His gut churned. He didn't want this. He didn't want to argue. He didn't mean anything that he'd said.

_B's was kissing Alex's throat almost violently, his teeth leaving indents in Alex's skin._

Near's neck burned. He wished that he could just forget everything.

"What would make this easier for you to understand?" B asked quietly. "I want to fuck you. That's it. I don't care about your feelings. I don't care about what you think. I don't care if you're upset or angry or whatever. Say it whatever way you want to, but this is it, really: _I want to have sex with you_."

Near knew exactly what would make this easier for him to understand whatever twisted relationship he and B shared - he was just reluctant to admit it.

B did not sneer. Near was more appreciative of that than he could express.

"It'll be good for you, too. Roger said that you don't talk to people enough, but we'll obviously have to talk if we're going to fuck-"

"Do you think that's all I care about?!" Near interjected, feeling flushed with his frustration. "Having sex?!"

B quirked a brow, looking genuinely curious. "What else could you care about?"

Near stared at B incredulously, his heart pounding in his ears.

What could he say?

He couldn't lie: it would be wasted on both of them.

His first sexual experience had satisfied him, but made him just as disgusted. He was too ashamed to think about it. His second had been with B, and had left him feeling empty.

How could he explain to B that this - whatever '_this_' was - meant more to him than any amount of sex ever could, when it meant nothing to B at all?

Regardless of what he had thought before he was actually faced with the concept, Near meaningless sex.

_Shit_, Near cursed inwardly.

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a few moments, and B asked expectantly, "Well?"

Near gathered his things far too quickly, his hands shaking. "If you can't figure it out for yourself, it's not worth me saying it," he said lamely, before quickly leaving the library.

His breathing sounded far too loud and harsh to his own ears.

What had he been about to say?

When he reached his room, he placed his things haphazardly on his desk, walked to his bathroom, stripped out of his dirty clothes, and stepped into the shower, turning the water's temperature up until it scalded his skin.

He slumped against one of the shower's tiled walls and breathed in deeply.

"Shit," he muttered to himself. "Holy _shit_." He sank to the floor, letting the water wash over him, and buried his face in his hands. "Shit," he repeated. "Oh, God. What am I _thinking_?"

It was obvious that he meant nothing to B.

He knew that.

He just hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it did.

Near pressed his fists into his eyes so hard that his head ached.

After twenty or so minutes, he left the bathroom feeling upset and confused and annoyingly refreshed.

There was a note on his pillow. He wondered if B was trying to establish this as a habit.

He didn't know whether he hoped so or not.

'Near,' it read,

'I don't know what you want from me.

Would it make things better for you if we called each other boyfriends or something?

Fine. Be my boyfriend, Near, or I won't have sex with you.

Just stop being angry at me. I haven't done anything wrong.

If you understood my position right now, you wouldn't be so quick to assume.

From,

B.'

Near lay down on his bed and traced the familiar hand-writing with the tip of his finger.

He had a boyfriend.

A _boyfriend_.

Never mind the fact that his boyfriend was suspected of murder and had displayed perverse liking toward corpses - Near had a _boyfriend_.

He wondered if it was sensible of him to feel this ill about something that would have made anyone else his age quite pleased.

He didn't know what to do with himself, so he stared at the ceiling until well after nightfall.

He could not sleep: when he closed his eyes, the only thing that he could see was B's body moving against Alex's.

Near's jealousy made him sick.

-----

I'm bored. The update sucks. This chapter is crap. Bite me.

Long story short: I was going to Europe this year and paying for my own trip, but my father just cancelled it because he 'can't walk around the UK with me all day'.

And now I'm 'ruining his trip' by not wanting to go.

HIS trip, I ask you.

As you can probably tell, I am very frustrated.

So don't like the chapter? Fuck off. I don't feel like dealing with people's shit right now.

(Yes, I'm in a bad mood. I'm entitled to it.)

The lyrics don't necessarily coincide with the content of this chapter. It takes a stretch of the imagination, but if you don't get there, the lyrics mean nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer**: Run for your life!

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex, and references to death, suicide, and necrophilia...

**Spoilers**: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

**AN**: This chapter is not up to my usual standard. I'm tired and need a coffee. Do not expect miracles.

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Eleven:

_And I said, "Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all there's left to do is run..."_

-----

Approximately every decade at Wammy's House, as far as Near could tell, a police investigation was conducted, during which most of the students were interviewed. In all of the history of Wammy's House, only two children had ever been charged with a criminal offense.

The police were stern-faced and stiff; their countenance was so cold and severe that Near wondered if his hands would come back cold if he touched them.

He sat in the library, silently watching them record every detail of the 'crime scene', carefully watching their investigation; the library, his asylum, where the tapping of shoes against the cold stone and the clicking of cameras, dulled by layers of police-tape and plastic, made Near feel nervous.

The library was where he hid away from the world; the library was the one place where he felt safe.

But something was not right.

The police seemed to be paying particular attention to him, as if the dozens of other curious orphans around them meant nothing.

He pretended to read.

They stared at him.

He scratched his knee.

One of the policemen approached him.

"Hello," the policeman said, his voice surprisingly low for someone so small in stature. "My name's Joshua Lewis. What's yours?"

Near did not look up from his book when he replied, "My name is Near."

His breathing was far too short to be considered normal. He hoped that Joshua would not notice.

Why were the police taking such an interest in him? Near had done nothing that could be deemed suspicious, by any stretch of the imagination. He had not spoken to Alex in six months. He had never so much as stolen in his life.

Did they want to glean knowledge from him, then? What did they expect him to know? He knew nothing about Alex's death: that was why he was watching the investigation, in the first place.

Near felt nervous, though he didn't like to admit it. He could be taken into custody on simple suspicions.

To Near's utmost dismay, Joshua sat beside him and asked, "What's that you're reading?"

"_Divina Commedia_," Near answered shortly.

Joshua seemed almost insultingly surprised. "In Italian?"

Near sighed and closed the book. "No: the title is in Italian, but the book itself is in Swedish."

Joshua did not reply, though he did look appropriately apologetic. Near felt irritated.

If Near was not guilty and had no knowledge of the circumstances surrounding Alex's death, then the police could only want to know one thing: information about B.

Someone must have seen them together, by now. In fact, if Linda had not seen Near and B interacting, by this stage, then Near would have to reconsider his opinion of her and her intelligence.

B had said that he was in isolation for four days. During that time, anything could have happened. B could have let slip the smallest piece of information - even Near's name - and the police would have honed in on it, grasping the only clues that they could find.

Near's fingernails were sharp when they dug into his own palms.

They would not take B away. He would tell them nothing.

"You didn't come here for small-talk about Dante Alighieri," Near said. "What do you want?"

Joshua placed a small notebook on the table when he said, "Well, I just wanted to ask you some questions about the death that recently-"

"Alex's death, you mean," Near interjected. "He had a name, you know."

With a nod, Joshua continued, "I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Alex's death. Do you mind?"

Near stood up and explained, at Joshua's quizzical expression, "I expect that you won't want to speak to me about Alex's death in the middle of a crowded library."

It was a lie. Near could not care less about people overhearing them: he just did not want B to come and find him while he was being interviewed by a policeman.

Joshua stood as well, and they both made their way out of the library.

Walking through the cold, empty hallways, Near suddenly felt less comfortable with Joshua.

"What do you want to ask me?" Near enquired when Joshua did not say anything. He was anxious to get this over and done with.

Joshua deflected Near's question with his own: "It looks dark out - do you think it's going to rain?"

Near ignored Joshua. He wanted to speak to B. He needed to find out what B had done.

Joshua silently sat down at a table in the dining hall and gestured for Near to join him.

The whole hall was empty.

Near, disconcerted, sat down.

"Now, then," Joshua said, suddenly sounding much more professional, "where, exactly, were you on the day of Alex's death?"

Near sighed, already bored. "I was in the library," he replied. He wondered why even the police insisted on wasting his time. He would have preferred to spend several hours in Linda's company than listen to the police's incorrect accusations.

Joshua raised an eyebrow and pulled out a notebook from his pocket. "Go on," he prompted, writing in the pad.

"I was reading," Near said slowly.

Joshua quirked a brow. "Were you, now?" he asked, his eyes fixed to his notepad.

"I can give you a list of the books, if you like," Near offered.

Joshua smiled wryly. "If you please."

Sarcasm was obviously wasted on this man.

Near did not return the smile when he asked, "Are you hoping to find a cryptic message in the titles of the books? Their authors, perhaps? Or maybe the third line of every ninth paragraph of every fifth page?"

There were not many things about a person that could surprise Near: he had observed the human race for as long as he could remember, dedicating only the oddest social rituals and habits to memory, and he was no longer shocked by anything that he saw or heard.

Joshua's laugh, however, was something entirely unexpected. It sounded almost like B's, in that it sent cold shivers down Near's spine, but these were less than pleasant. Joshua's laugh was not pleasing to the ear, nor was it filled with any particular kind of mirth that Near could understand.

Near felt ill.

"So you're a smart-ass, huh? You know what that tells me? That tells me you're scared," Josh sneered.

Near quirked a brow. "Alternatively, it could just be that I don't appreciate having my time wasted. Please get to the point."

His confidence was nothing more than a lie. He did not feel comfortable in Joshua's presence. He was terrified of the idea of being sent to prison on a false charge, and of something similar happening to B.

Joshua put his notebook down on the table. Near decided that this was not a good sign.

"I know that you had something to do with his murder - or suicide, if you'd prefer to call it that, though we both know that it's a lie," Joshua said confidently.

Near was very tempted to laugh, if only to wipe the annoyingly arrogant smirk from Joshua's face. Instead, he asked, "And what did I have to do with Alex's death?"

Joshua folded his arms. "Why don't you tell me what you told Alex, hm?"

Genuinely confused, Near frowned and said, "We haven't spoken since June last year. I'm sure I can tell you the details of the conversation, if you think that it will somehow contribute to figuring out the reasoning behind his suicide, but I don't see how this will further the investigation at all."

He did not understand what Joshua was insinuating. He liked Alex - most of the orphans did - and Near was regretful of the fact that they had not spoken in several months.

What was Joshua talking about?

"Don't play dumb with me," Joshua said, scowling. "Don't even try it. I've spoken to Mr. Ruvie. He says you're a genius - a prodigy, even."

Near's frown deepened as he stated, "Well, yes, I am very intelligent. I think you'll find that most of the people here are. That's why it's an orphanage for bright children, you see."

Joshua tapped his pen against the desk at exactly one hundred and twenty beats per minute.

The hair on the back of Near's neck bristled. He felt irritated. Why could Joshua not just accept the fact that Near knew nothing about Alex's suicide?

"You didn't kill him because of your grades - you're at the top," Joshua contemplated aloud. "Mr. Ruvie said that you're socially awkward. Is that why you killed Alex - because he fit in better than you could? Or was he with a girl you like? Did he sleep with her?"

Near snorted: he could not stop himself. "I admit it. I, the socially awkward virgin, communicated with Alex - through the beginning of every twelfth sentence in every fortieth book in the library, no less - that I wanted him dead," he sneered.

His voice did not sound like his. He didn't know why he was provoking a policeman, of all people, only that it felt good.

It was as if he could not stop himself once he had started. He found that he could release all of his pent-up frustration and anger and confusion on this unwitting policeman, and that he felt no guilt at all.

Near wondered if this was what insanity felt like.

"Please don't try to understand me, Mr. Lewis. I'm not-"

There was a loud noise that seemed to resound throughout the whole dining hall. Joshua's hand was still poised over Near's cheek, as if to strike him again.

Joshua stood over the table, and Near's cheek stung.

They stared at each other.

Near reached up to touch his cheek. He winced. It was bruising already.

He noticed, with no small amount of amusement, that it was cold.

"Don't you dare," Joshua said quietly. "You little shit. You think I'm stupid? I don't care if you can read in Italian or Swedish or whatever the hell else you do for fun. Do you get your kicks out of humiliating people? Is _that_ why you killed him?"

Near tried to read Joshua's notebook from where he sat. He craned his neck slightly and made out the words '_clearly..._' and'_denial..._'

He clenched his fists, enraged.

"Are you deaf, or are you just an idiot?" Near asked. "I didn't have anything to do with Alex's suicide. I _liked_ Alex. Why would I want to kill him? Because he has more social standing than I do? What would that achieve?"

Joshua glowered at Near. "I don't know - why don't you tell me?"

Irritated, Near stood up and said, "You've no evidence against me. Please stop wasting my time." He felt awkward when he turned his back on Joshua, and his muscles tensed, almost as if he was expecting Joshua to hit him again.

He found that a sick part of him wanted to be struck. He wanted Joshua to hurt him, if only because he could file a police brutality claim and lose Joshua his job.

"No evidence?" Joshua repeated gleefully. "Come to the police station with me, and I'll _show_ you the evidence."

Though he did not like the idea of blatantly defying authoritative figures, Near very stubbornly began to walk away from the table. To his surprise, Joshua did not call after him, and he briskly made his way to his room.

Near was silent when he opened his bedroom door. Something did not seem right. It could have just been paranoia, but Near was not known for being paranoid.

A hand was clapped over his mouth and he struggled against it, cursing and biting and yelling as loudly as he could.

"Calm down," someone whispered into his ear. "It's just me."

He immediately fell still. "Bleh?" he asked softly against their palm. He found himself hoping that is wasn't B just as strongly as he wished that it was.

B sighed against Near's neck. "Yeah. You calm now?"

Near's skin tingled. He kissed B's palm gently, but made no move to nod or shake his head.

There was a sharp intake of breath beside his ear, and then B released him. "Stay very, very still, and keep your voice down," B said lowly.

Near did as was asked of him and enquired, "What's going on, B?" His heart-beat was far too fast and loud in the sudden silence. He was sure that B could hear it.

"Cameras," B murmured. "Above your bed, behind your book-case, in your wardrobe... Right now, we're standing in the only square metre of space in your whole room that isn't being taped, and the cameras will pick up every conversation you have in here unless you lower your voice."

Near felt the curious sensation of his stomach clenching and his breath leaving him at the same time.

He had no idea that B was so concerned for his well-being that he would sneak into Near's room and scour it for cameras.

He was almost overcome by the powerful urge to press B against the wall and kiss him, in front of the police and anyone else who would see the surveillance footage.

"Really?" Near breathed. He was distinctly aware of the fact that B's arm brushed against his with even the slightest of movements from either of them. "They installed them today," he realised.

B touched his waist and replied quietly, "Yeah, they did. What were they talking to you about?"

Having this conversation in his doorway seemed extremely awkward to Near, but, nevertheless, he answered, "I don't know." His chest twinged. He did not like lying to B, no matter how partially.

B sighed, relieved, and pressed a short kiss to Near's throat. Combined with the soft weight of the hands on his waist, it did not feel right to Near. The tension was so thick in the air that he found it hard to breathe.

"What?" he asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

B's breath was too far away from something to not have happened. Near could not feel it on him; he could not taste it, or even hear it. It seemed almost as if B was being distant on purpose.

Near's throat tightened.

"_What_?" he repeated.

It was quiet for far too long, and Near turned around to face B, whose face was contorted into such an expression of badly-hidden anxiety that Near's heart ached.

"You need to leave," B finally whispered, sounding desperate. "They're investigating me, and by now, someone would've seen you with me. The police will know your name. They're going to take you into custody."

Near swallowed around the lump in his throat and murmured, "I won't tell them anything." A beat, and then, "Why are you here? You don't care."

It hurt him to admit it. He felt his words distinctly on his face, as if Joshua had struck him again.

B looked troubled, and Near almost regretted voicing his curiosity.

Almost.

"I don't care," B answered harshly. "I just don't want to go to gaol."

Frustrated, Near pushed B away from him. He suddenly felt impatient and annoyed with B's constant denial. Any more and he would begin to believe that B really didn't like him at all, and that they were simply participating in pointless and meaningless rendez-vous.

B scowled. "What?" he asked. "I just saved your arse, you unappreciative-"

Near had never hit anyone before and found that he did not like the sensation of his knuckles cracking against B's jaw. He wasn't sure if it would even bruise B's skin, but he did not care: his face was flushing and his pulse was roaring in his ears, and B had fallen silent.

"Do you enjoy lying to yourself?" Near asked quietly, sounding vaguely mutinous.

B snarled, "Don't pretend to understand, you little fairy. Why don't you stop being so self-absorbed and realise that everything in your life is just like you - pretty and perfect?"

Near's lips curled up into a smirk when he asked, "As I recall, _you_ were the one who propositioned _me_, yet you think that _I'm_ the fairy here?"

"Shut up," B spat. He removed himself from Near completely and stepped away.

Near narrowed his eyes. "Do you want to hear a lie, B? Do you want me to be dishonest?" He grabbed B's hand and tugged B down to his level, so that they were eye to eye when Near stated, "I hate you."

B stiffened, and Near tightened his hand around B's when the boy threatened to walk away.

"W-What?" B asked, sounding scared.

Near leaned in closer until he could feel B's breath mingling with his own. "I hate you," he repeated quietly, his eyes narrowing until he was glaring at B with as much effort as he could muster.

B's eyes darted about the room, as if he was trying to find some way to escape. His hand tugged at Near's when he tried to leave, but Near held onto it tighter still.

"God," Near murmured; his nose awkwardly bumped B's, "I hate you so much..."

B was shaking and his breathing was too far too shallow to be healthy. "I... I hate you too," he whispered.

They were both trembling: B was shaking so violently that Near wondered, for a second, if he was feverish, but then B was pressing him against the wall and they were kissing and Near's mind went completely blank.

They broke apart after what felt like an eternity, B's lips bruised a lovely red colour. Near's stomach clenched and he stroked B's cheek lightly.

"I'm leaving," he said softly. He had not made a decision to do it, but he realised that he'd never really had a choice at all.

B sighed and pressed his forehead to Near's. "Where to?" he asked quietly.

Near closed his eyes and murmured, "I don't know." He paused for a moment before saying, "Come with me."

B's arms were tight around his waist. Near hugged B closer to him and touched B's soft hair.

"I can't."

Near did not feel disappointed, because he had expected nothing less. He could not stop his heart from clenching, however, or the tremor in his voice when he asked, "Do they have a reason to be suspicious of you?"

B did not quite meet Near's eyes when he responded, "No."

Near drew in a sharp breath. "What did you do?"

It was quiet for a few moments. Near was torn between holding B for a while longer and pushing B away from himself.

"He used to watch you in the showers," B finally answered. "You didn't know because I made sure that you didn't find out. He took photographs. I burned them."

Near's stomach sank and he struggled out of B's arms. "What are you trying to say?"

He knew exactly what B was saying - he just did not want to believe it.

B seemed genuinely upset when he elaborated: "He didn't respect you. He wanted your body. Everything he ever did - when he studied with you, spoke to you, asked you to sit with him at lunch - it was all because he wanted to sleep with you."

Near shook his head, his eyes wide and stinging.

It couldn't possibly be true. Alex had been so kind to him. In fact, Alex was the first person to ever be that kind to him; they had almost been friends.

"He deserved to die," B murmured, clenching his eyes shut. "He was scared and didn't know what to do. He was sick, so sick - he was going to die anyway, but he didn't want to die from the illness, so I told him..." B took in a great, shuddering gulp of air and cried, "I told him how to- how to tie the noose and- and I didn't think he'd actually _do_ it!"

Near did not want to listen to B any more, but could not seem to turn away.

He watched, transfixed and horrified, as B tore at his face with his fingernails, looking deranged, and choked, "I can't- I c-can't stop h-hearing him... in m-my head..." He pulled at his hair, his eyes shut so tightly that it looked painful. "I-It just won't _stop_..."

Near stepped away from B and felt for the doorknob behind him.

"N-Near," B sobbed, "I d-didn't mean it... I-I didn't..."

Near nodded, feeling numb, and he let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He walked around Wammy's Ground, his mind oddly blank - for how long, he was not sure - before he came to a stop in front of the lake.

It was not a windy day; the water's surface was smooth.

Near knelt at its edge, picked up a pebble, and threw it into the water as hard as he could with a loud cry. "Fuck!"

He threw another stone into the water and made a frustrated sound, his throat feeling tight. The lake was so far into the Wammy's grounds that no one in the House could hear him: the sun was setting, and no one would be out in the grounds, except for him.

"Shit," he hissed when he cut the tips of his fingers on a particularly sharp stone. He clenched his jaw and kicked at the water's edge, his toes coming back cold and wet.

He did not care.

He threw another pebble into the water and breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself.

It did not work.

What right did B have to force him into this situation?

Near now had no choice but to leave Wammy's House. The police would be investigating him and, though it would look suspicious, he did not want to get tangled up in it at all. The case would be solved, B would be locked up, and Near could go on with his life.

He tried to convince himself thoroughly that it didn't matter to him whether B - a criminal - was locked up or not.

He failed miserably, and despondently kicked another stone until it rolled into the lake.

As he watched the first few drops of rain hit the lake's surface, he knew, with complete certainty, that he had never hated anyone more in his life.

-----

Dude, I totally ruined Beyond Birthday's character. It was, however, a necessary evil, so don't be shunning me until the story is over. It'll make sense in the end, I promise.

I could've written it differently, but I haven't, so screw it. I'm not fixing it unless I spontaneously receive some kind of motivation from the Heavens.

Shitty update is shitty.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer**: Panama!

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex, and references to death, suicide, and necrophilia...

**Spoilers**: I'm wearing stockings (:

**AN**: Wow. We're officially over 600 hits. I didn't expect that - not from this, 'cause I thought that everyone hated BBxNia. I was sort of under the impression that it was one of those fandoms that you know exists but you kind of... try not to think about...

So thanks to everyone who read/is reading this, even if you think that I'm a sick freak who should probably go and die (:

And, just as a warning, kids - THAR BE TEH SEX IN THIS CHAPTAR!

Well, sort of.

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Twelve:

_Romeo, save me... They try to tell me how to feel..._

-----

It was a fairly common occurrence, at Wammy's House, for a child to leave without any known reason or cause, leaving no note behind to explain their departure. Near remembered it happening nine times in the past four years, and he was no stranger as to how it worked.

Night time at Wammy's House: dimmed lights and soft noises. Gather his things. Sneak out. Go to the library. Reminisce.

The library was cold and deserted, and Near's footsteps echoed loudly; he felt truly out of place in the library for the first time in his life.

He ran his fingers along the spines of his favourite row of books - a particularly enlightening series on Napoleon Bonaparte - and picked out the oldest, most-worn volume. He sat down at his table and opened the book to a random page.

The pages seemed dull to him and the darkness of the library seemed to swallow the words from the pages; the library, his retreat, where the sounds of his own quick, shallow breathing and the sporadic turning of pages, dulled by the loud beat of his heart, made Near feel scared and alone.

He loved the library. He wanted to spend the rest of his life here.

And he was never going to see it again.

The library had been his home; the library was where he had spent the best and worst times of his life, and this was the last time he would ever enjoy it.

But something was not right.

He couldn't read. He couldn't concentrate. He felt strangely detached from everything.

Near did not start when a soft voice called out tentatively, "Near?" Linda stepped out from behind a bookshelf and asked, "What are you doing here?"

He closed his book and replied quietly, "Reading. Why are you here?"

Her face flushed. Near wanted to touch her cheek and press his palm against it, to see if it was as hot as it looked. He wondered if it would feel as soft as B's did, and decided that that was impossible.

They would never see each other again, which Near thought was a pity. He'd grown accustomed to Linda constantly nagging him to play with the other children. Linda's advances were nothing if not reliable.

He considered the fact that he'd probably miss her when he left, and found that he didn't mind terribly.

"I just... I wanted to speak to you," Linda said. She licked her lips.

It was a fleeting desire that made his heart race: he wanted to kiss her.

He stood up very quickly and murmured, "We've spoken a lot recently." He reached out to touch her face and she seemed to lean toward him. That her cheek was cool and smooth and not quite as pleasant-feeling as B's did not surprise him.

"What are you doing, Near?" she enquired breathily. Her cheek was warm under his palm.

Near pressed his nose to hers. She closed her eyes and Near felt her sigh distinctly on his face.

"I'm leaving," he said. He felt the sudden need to be close to her and held her closer to his chest. He tried to dedicate every detail of her to memory: soft, subtle curves; the faint, racing pulse in her wrist; the gentle rising and falling of her chest against his; plump, pink lips; and the ache in his heart when she clung to him, as if trying to keep him from leaving.

This was the last time they would ever be this close and Near didn't really want it to end, if only because he wouldn't ever be this familiar with anyone again.

Linda gasped, her eyes suddenly growing damp, and spluttered, "W-What? Where? Why?"

Near leaned in close enough to her that he could almost feel her eyelashes against his cheek. "It doesn't matter," he answered. He honestly couldn't answer her; he didn't know where he was going, and she couldn't know about B and the police.

"I love you," she whispered. "Please don't leave."

He kissed her, just to shut her up. It did not feel nearly as good as kissing B did and he tried to pretend that her hair was shorter and coarser between his fingers.

It surprised Near when she pushed him away, and his fingers tightened momentarily in her hair. She winced.

"Why are you doing this?" Linda asked quietly.

Near clenched his eyes shut.

What was he supposed to say? That she was his last resort? That she was second best? That she was a cheap replacement for B, who Near could not have anything to do with?

Linda stroked his forehead affectionately and said softly, "It's not me. It's never really been me, right? So who is she?"

He wanted to hit her. How was it possible for her to be so _blind_?

"He was there," Near replied bluntly, "when we had sex."

She pulled away from him completely, and he did not fight her. Linda frowned and looked up at his face. "What are you talking about?" she asked slowly.

Near frowned as well. "You didn't see him?" he asked, puzzled.

How could she have possibly _not_ seen B? He had been standing right there - in fact, Near could see the shelf of books that B had been standing in front of when he had touching himself while watching Near and Linda have sex.

Linda stepped away from him and narrowed her eyes when she repeated, "_What are you talking about, Near_?"

Near glanced around the library to make sure that they were still going to go undisturbed and hissed suspiciously, "How could you not have seen him? He was _right there_, Linda. He was _touching himself while we had sex_. I thought you knew..."

Wrapping her arms around herself, Linda shot him a horrified look and shook her head vehemently. "God, I wanted _you_! I wanted it to be special - between the two of us - and I would've noticed if someone else had been there, Near!"

"Are you calling me a liar?" Near demanded, confused.

How could she not have seen B?! Was she _blind_?

Linda blinked at him and seemed to come to a sudden realisation. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and her voice trembled when she asked, "I-It's him, isn't it? He's th-the one you love?"

Near did not answer her.

She sighed shakily and went on, "Near, if someone was there, I would've noticed. You have _no idea_ how much I love you. Do you think that I wanted to have sex in front of someone else? It was my first time. I wanted it to be special. It was special enough that it was with you, but-"

Near shook his head and interjected, "I don't care what you think you didn't see. He was there. I spoke to him about it, Linda." He tried to let her down gently and gave her what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry that it wasn't everything you wanted it to be and that I don't want to-"

For the second time in as many days, someone slapped his cheek. It hurt; his cheek burned.

"Near," Linda said quietly, sounding far too calm, "he wasn't there."

Near rolled his eyes. "What are you saying, Linda? Are you hearing yourself? Of course he was-"

With a shake of her head, Linda repeated, "Near, you're not listening to me. _He wasn't there_. No one was there."

Near shook his head again and asked angrily, "And what - I'm seeing things, am I?"

She had the decency to look uncomfortable, but it only annoyed him further.

"He was there, Linda," Near insisted. He clenched his fists and wondered how much trouble he'd get in if he just slapped the ridiculously surprised expression from her face. "Would you rather I forget that he was? Do you want to have sex again, maybe, to make up for it?"

Linda's face flushed unattractively and she raised a hand, as though to hit him again. "Don't you dare!" she cried shrilly. "What is your _problem_, Near?! I thought- I-I thought-"

Near turned away from her and gathered his things. His voice was surprisingly cold when he said, "I don't love you. I'm leaving."

He felt sick. He didn't want to leave her on such a bad note; he did not want to upset her like this, but couldn't seem to stop talking.

"This isn't you, Near..." Linda said softly, sounding so upset that Near's heart clenched.

He was inclined to believe her, but didn't say so.

She reached out and touched his arm gently as she asked, "What's his name?"

Near stiffened and tried to move away from her. He didn't want her to touch him. It didn't feel right, especially after what he'd just said to her. He had no trouble admitting that he'd been awful and unfair, so why wouldn't she just leave him alone?

Fingers tightening around Near's upper-arm like a vice, Linda said, "It's the least you owe me, Near... Please, just tell me what his name is..."

A lump formed in Near's throat and he had difficulty breathing. He couldn't admit that he didn't _know_ B's name - he'd just look like a love-struck fool.

He was silent and Linda seemed to take it as a refusal to answer. Her nails dug into his skin and Near closed his eyes, feeling sick.

This was all B's fault.

No - to be fair, Near supposed, some of the blame would have to lay with Alex, as well, because if B hadn't defiled Alex's corpse, then none of this would have come about.

Near wouldn't have to leave, this confrontation wouldn't have happened, and Near wouldn't be feeling nearly as guilty and regretful as he did.

"B," Near mumbled so quietly that he half-hoped Linda didn't hear him.

Linda's eyebrows shot up. "Bee?" she asked incredulously. "What kind of a name is-"

Near shook his head. "Not 'Bee' - 'B', the letter."

He waited for her reaction, and wasn't surprised when she dropped his arm, her mouth falling open.

"What do you mean ''B', the letter'?!" she demanded. "You don't even know his name, do you?!"

After waiting for Linda to calm down slightly, Near replied softly, feeling uncomfortable, "I don't know your name, either. 'B' is just another alias. What difference does it make?" He thought that it made all the difference in the world, but hoped that Linda did not.

Linda giggled quietly, sounding slightly hysterical. "But, Near," she said, obviously trying to grasp at the last remnants of her reason while she still could, "Near, he's a _boy_ and you've never mentioned him before and you don't even know his name!"

The urge to hit her was harder to resist and Near clenched his hands around the material of his shirt. "There's something wrong with him being a boy?" he asked lowly.

"N-No!" Linda replied far too quickly. "Of course not!"

Near scowled at her when he said, "Then I don't understand your problem with... this. It's none of your concern. You should have realised from the start that I wouldn't return your feelings."

When he saw the tears in her eyes, he wanted to gather her in his arms and apologise. He would even kiss her again; he would do anything to stop her from crying.

He tried to reach out and touch her, but she stepped out of his reach. His gut clenched.

Linda was obviously trying to hold back her tears when she said, "I j-just want you to like me, Near..."

Near chewed on his lip awkwardly when she choked and hugged herself. What did she expect him to say? Did she want him to apologise and profess some kind of love for her from the Wammy's rooftops? She knew him well enough to realise that he wouldn't ever do something like that.

When he didn't reply for a few moments, Linda covered her face with her hands and turned away from him.

The fact that she was so distressed that she didn't even want to see him upset Near more than anything else.

"Linda..." he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist. She tensed and he pressed his forehead to her shoulder. "Linda, I'm sorry..." He had never meant the words more in his life.

Near was horrified when her shoulders began to shake and she sobbed, "W-Why can't it just b-be _me_? Why is h-he better than m-me?"

Ignoring his discomfort, Near pressed himself closer to Linda and sighed, "It's not that he's better than you. He just..." Near didn't know what to say. "It's not like there's one identifiable feature that makes him... makes me like him... umm... romantically. There's just a lot of... small things... gestures, things he says..."

Linda turned in his arms to give him a sad look.

"It's stupid," Near said, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he sounded like a smitten fool.

Linda didn't say anything, and Near felt increasingly more idiotic. She had stopped crying, though, and Near felt a small weight lift from his chest.

Finally, Linda said softly, "You sound happy. It's... nice."

He didn't bother to correct her.

"Are you in a relationship?" Linda asked, sounding far too calm.

Near wished that he could honestly tell her that yes, he and B were in a relationship. He wished that he understood whatever boundaries B had placed on their relationship. He wished that he knew what B was to him, and exactly what he was to B.

But he couldn't, and he didn't.

"It's... complicated," Near answered. It was honest enough, and he didn't feel too upset when she stepped closer to him and pressed her chest to his.

Linda didn't meet his gaze when she asked, "Can I kiss you?"

Near somehow felt as though he'd expected this the entire night. He couldn't deny that he was surprised by her boldness, but he wasn't sure whether he'd called it pleasant or distasteful.

He couldn't think of anything to say to her, and didn't resist when she kissed him.

It was awkward and Near couldn't stop thinking about B.

Would this be considered unfaithful or a betrayal?

As if to distract himself, Near closed his eyes and let his hands fall to Linda's waist.

Linda shook her head and Near got a mouthful of her chin.

"Ew..." Near muttered under his breath, wiping his mouth. "What?" he asked Linda.

Linda wiped her chin on her sleeve and said, "You don't have to pretend that you're enjoying it. I know you're not."

Near thought that she was smarter than he'd ever given her credit for, or maybe she was just assertive. Either way, he was vaguely impressed. He wanted to tell her so.

His compliment came out as more of a question: "No more pretending?"

Linda shook her head and then they were kissing again, and it was somehow okay when Linda bit Near's lip and he winced.

He didn't enjoy it and he didn't bother to hide it.

It was awful.

Near felt as if he was somehow contaminating Linda. His mouth had been on B's barely twenty-four hours ago, and B had kissed Alex's corpse. It was disgusting, and Near wanted to vomit when Linda made a small, satisfied noise. He wondered if Linda would still kiss him if she knew, and decided that it probably didn't matter, because this was the last time they would every see one another, anyway.

Linda's breathing was far too heavy and her hands were forceful. She guided his hands to the small of her back and made a delighted noise when his fingers crept under the hem of her shirt. She seemed impossibly childish in the simple pleasure that she derived solely from being close to him and the way that she didn't try to hide it.

She was moving blatantly, but Near did not try to stop her. Her hands quickly found the zipper of Near's pants and soon she was on her knees, Near's fingers tangled in her hair.

Near didn't quite know where to look. Posters of the greatest minds in history covered the walls and he found them to be something of a mood-killer. He didn't feel up to meeting Benjamin Franklin's eyes and instead settled for staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting almost impatiently for Linda to finish.

It took far longer than Near would have liked. He had tried to convince his body that the beautiful girl in front of him was very arousing and that it should finish very quickly, but it had ignored him.

Linda smiled up at him tentatively and licked her lips. Near contemplated running to the nearest bathroom and being violently ill.

"Was it... Was it good?" Linda asked hesitantly, as if she honestly expected him to say 'no'.

Near flushed and pulled up his pants. "Obviously," he replied. "I have to go now." He did not want to spend any more time with her. Staying for even this long had been a mistake.

Linda pouted. Near gagged when he noticed the white liquid on her chin.

"Goodbye," he said quickly. He picked up his things (when had they fallen to the floor?) and hastened out of the library.

It took her a few moments, but Linda eventually called after him, "Bye, Near!"

Near's legs felt like jelly and his knees trembled when he left Wammy's House completely. He couldn't stop thinking about Linda's blissful expression or the flush on her cheeks when she kissed him.

He found that he wanted to leave nearly as much as he didn't, and tried not to think too hard about the light he saw on in his bedroom, or the pale boy standing on his balcony and watching him.

He was leaving Wammy's and his old life behind; Linda, the library, Roger, Mello, B...

Near wondered, as he boarded a bus that would take him to London, if the dull ache in his chest was what it felt like to miss someone.

-----

I'm bored. I feel like I can't write any more ):

This chapter came out crappy.

Confused about B? Good. It will all make sense soon.

Well, soon-ish.

(I really hate Linda. All she does is whinge and cry. Well, she's pretty much finished her role in the story! Yhey!)


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer**: If you still think, at this stage, that I own Death Note, then there is something seriously wrong with you (:

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex, and references to death, suicide, and necrophilia...

**Spoilers**: Another one bites the dust!

**AN**: Chapter starts off crap because I couldn't figure out how to start it :D

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Thirteen:

_This love is difficult, but it's real..._

-----

Every child at Wammy's House earned an allowance that they had access to at any time, though Roger was usually reluctant to let anyone spend large sums of money. Each allowance was placed in separate, private bank accounts that only two people knew the access codes to - the children themselves and Roger. Near had been at Wammy's House for six years, earning twelve quid a week. He still had the majority of that left in his bank account, as he barely ever spent his money.

There had been a small resource fee - ten pounds a year - for the children to use the library, pool, and supplies. It was not entirely useless; Near took it as Wammy's trying to teach the children how to use their money wisely. For Near, paying ten pounds a year had always been worth it. He could stay in his library all day, thinking and reading and being comfortably lonely, and have a few thousand quid saved up for when he needed it.

He needed it now.

London was expensive and smoggy and swarming with busy people, even at night. Near was accustomed to being removed from crowds and found himself getting lost amongst the large bodies of people. He didn't know where he was going and his bag got caught more than once on a particularly hurried person's shoulder or elbow. He needed to find accommodation, but he had only been to London a few times, and had no idea where to find a hotel to stay at until he knew what to do.

His attire and complexion earned him more than a few stares from the busy Londoners. Near wanted to ask them if they'd never seen an albino before, but feared the answer.

Eventually, when it was nearing midnight, according to the Great Clock, Near found a relatively cheap hotel that was willing to host him for a few nights, so long as he didn't tell anyone else about it, as Near was still legally considered a minor.

The small ensuite looked clean enough, but Near's reflection in the mirror seemed murky. He bathed as quickly as he could and washed his dirty clothes in the bathtub. As he waited for them to dry, Near thought about many things: Wammy's House, Linda, B, but, mostly, he thought about his library.

Who would keep the books in their correct order, with him gone? Who would look after them and ensure that no harm came to them? Who would make sure that the library was clean and well cared for?

He missed it already; the familiar scent of books, the light layer of dust that drifted up toward him when he opened a book that he hadn't read in some time, the sunlight that drifted through the high windows and bathed the room in a warm, orange glow...

The bed felt too big when Near lay down on it, and the blankets were cold and crisp. Near eventually crawled out from under them and threw his shirt over himself instead, curling up under it.

He slept fitfully and woke up breathing heavily, his shirt tangled around his arms and torso.

Nightmares.

He had suffered from them since he was a small child, but, as of late, had not experienced any. He didn't like to think that it was because he had been contemplating about pleasant things before he slept, rather than spending his time dreading sleep, but he couldn't deny that it was probably true.

Near's brow was sweaty and damp. He wiped it with shaking hands and clenched his eyes shut against the pounding in his head.

A breeze rolled in through the window and he sneezed.

Most Wammy's children were creatures of habit; not to the point that they were obsessive, but at the stage where they could appreciate a convenient ritual. Near, however, was not most Wammy's children, and his blatantly obsessive compulsions served only to make him ill.

He was in a strange bed, in a strange room, in a strange hotel, in a strange city, and he barely made it to the strange bathroom before he was sick in the strange toilet.

He didn't want to be here. He had never felt so alone in his life. He missed Wammy's and Linda and Mello and familiarity and safety and B, and it _hurt_.

He was scared.

There was a loud knocking at his door and someone's frantic voice asking, "Are you okay?"

Near stood shakily and put on a clean shirt. He tried not to look too disgruntled when he opened the door and replied, "Yes, I'm fine."

Near recognised the man in front of him; tall, gangly, awkward, and with a slight accent that Near had yet to identify: he was the hotel's owner. He looked fairly young, or maybe it was just that Near hadn't seen enough people in his life as a basis for comparison. It was probably the latter, now that he thought about it, though he didn't particularly like the idea of expanding his knowledge of people - especially not directly after vomiting.

"I hear- heard screaming," the hotel's owner went on slowly, as if he wasn't quite comfortable with speaking English, "and- and is your nose bleeding?"

Near reached up to touch his nose. It felt sticky and warm. He shrugged. "I hurt it about a week ago. I'm fine." He wanted this man to leave him alone, so that he could clean himself up and leave.

To Near's dismay, the hotel's owner leaned against the doorframe and said, "My name is Ilijah."

So his accent was Croatian, then?

Near pointedly kept the door open to an absolute minimum when he responded, "You already know my name."

Near had never met anyone from Croatia before. He considered what an opportunity this was to develop his knowledge of different cultures more fully, but decided against it. He didn't really care to gain any knowledge about Croatia, so long as he survived in London.

Ilijah's moustache quivered. Near thought that it looked rather like a blonde guinea pig.

"Nathan, yes?" Ilijah asked.

Near nodded slightly and enquired, "Was there anything in particular I could help you with, or are you content to linger in my - your - doorway?" Ilijah squirmed uncomfortably and Near's frown creased, his fingers tugging at his hair. "What is it?"

Ilijah ran a hand through his fair hair and said lowly, "The policija are here. They are looking for you. What you did - I don't care about it. Leave. Quickly. I won't lie, but I won't tell them you were here." He threw Near an ordinary, red jersey. "Put this on."

"I won't tell them your name," Near promised as he put on the jersey and gathered his things as hastily as he could, his hands shaking.

What if they found him?

Leaving Wammy's House - _not_ running away, because he wasn't _running_; he was just _leaving_ - had to look suspicious. He hadn't left for any incriminating reason, but he imagined that leaving looked shady enough in itself.

There were loud footsteps coming up the stairs and Ilijah hissed, gesturing toward the window, "Go! Leave!"

Near gave Ilijah a grateful smile as he climbed out of the window. It was cold outside, despite the warmth of the jersey, and he wished that he'd thought far enough ahead to bring a jacket.

And then the cold went away and someone's arms were around him.

"Got him!" a deep voice from behind him shouted.

Near had never been particularly confident with anything even remotely relating to physical activity, but he put all of his effort into it when he spun around in the man's tight grip and kicked whoever the man was in the groin.

A loud stream of curses followed him when he jumped from the window-ledge. He heard a crack when he landed - he was sure that he'd broken something - and pulled the jersey's hood on over his head, trying to appear as normal as he could when he walked down the somewhat crowded footpath, disguising his limp as best he could.

"Where is he?" someone yelled. A pause, and then, "You let him _go_?! Look for him!"

Near pulled the hood further over his head until half of his vision was covered, and attempted to brush his hair back under the material. He wished that he'd had enough sense to bring clothes with him that were not the conspicuous white.

His heart pounded and his palms were sweaty, though he didn't know whether that was from overexertion, his injury, or the fact that the police were now chasing him.

He was a fugitive.

"Shit," Near tried to curse, but it came out as more of a half-sob half-laugh.

The police were after him.

Never, in his wildest dreams, had he guessed that his life would end in a jail-cell.

"_Shit_."

The walk to the end of the street seemed to take an eternity, and Near was ready to collapse by the time he reached the closest public bench.

Park Hyde in the daylight was large, green, and crisp.

Near relaxed against the hard wood of the bench, the dew-dampened grass tickling his ankles, one of them already swelling, and breathed deeply. He sneezed almost immediately, allergic to grass, and rested his forehead in his hands. "You'd better have a fucking good excuse for this, B," he muttered breathily, his chest heaving.

He could have sworn, for a moment, that the familiar and gentle weight of a small, comforting hand was on his shoulder, but the feeling dissipated when he sat up straighter.

The back of his neck prickled and he stood up, brushing imaginary dirt from his lap. He needed to find somewhere safe to rest - whether that be only a relatively clean alleyway or a deserted warehouse; at this stage, Near didn't care - and tend to his ankle.

It was a few minutes after the Great Clock had chimed twelve-noon that Near found an abandoned car, its frame so corroded that Near could only open the door a few inches without chunks of rust-stained metal falling off in his hands.

His clothes were horribly stained by the time he gave up on opening the door and simply broke a window to get into the car. He set his things down on one of the seats, pleased to find that the leather upholstery was relatively intact, and sat down on the passenger seat. The back was gone from it, and the driver's seat, and he lay his leg flat along the combined length of the seats, his back awkwardly pressed against the rusty door.

With a wince, he apprehensively rolled up the cuff of his pants. His ankle was swollen and purpling.

"Dulcis Virgo Maria," he breathed, his breath catching in his throat. "S-Sanctus Dominus."

Near tried to move his foot and cried out when a sharp pain tore through his leg and a sick 'crunch' came from his ankle. He clutched his leg and whimpered quietly, his eyes wet.

He'd never broken a bone before, apart from his nose. He'd cracked bones, and bruised them, but never broken - or completely _shattered_ - one before.

His mind was hazy and he had a hard time recalling what to do about broken bones. Alleviate the injury site? No, that was for bleeding. Or was it for fractures, as well? Bandage the wound? Definitely not - that would just make it worse.

"You should get some ice for that," someone commented from behind him and he started, surprised, his leg jerking up. It hit the steering wheel and he bit his lip to muffle his howl of pain.

Near turned around as slowly and carefully as he could, his chest close to bursting and his eyes burning, and stated, "B." His ankle throbbed and his hands clenched into fists.

It wasn't a question, but B's lips curled up into an amicable smile when he answered like it was, "Yep. What's up?"

How dare B put him in this predicament and appear at random, all smiles and laughs and _clean clothes_, and ask Near what was up?

All thoughts of his broken ankle flew from Near's mind when he lunged at B, his teeth bared. "The police are looking for me, you fuck!" he snarled, barely noticing when his foot caught on the gear-stick because his hands were at B's throat and B wasn't resisting. "What are you- Why-"

B did not appear to be choking and he didn't struggle to breathe, even as his face began to turn red from lack of oxygen. "N-Near," he gasped. "Ankle... Your... Y-Your ankle..."

Near became aware of a throbbing and almost unbearably sharp pain radiating from his ankle and up his leg. His hands trembled when they tightened around B's throat and he choked, "I-It's broken. It's y-your fault. God, you're an _ass_!" He awkwardly dug his elbow into B's ribs, but knew that the only one getting injured was himself. "This is all your fault! Why c-couldn't you just leave me out of this?!"

B's nails were unexpectedly sharp when they dug into Near's forearms. "Near..."

The pain in his ankle was so excruciating that Near almost couldn't feel it at all. He clenched his teeth and bowed his head.

What was he doing? He didn't want to give the police an actual reason to put him in gaol, but he couldn't seem to loosen his grip on B's throat. It felt so good to vent some of his pent up frustration and there was an odd ringing in his ears. He had never been a particularly violent person and he knew that he was the only one, in this situation, who was going to end up hurt, but he didn't care.

It felt _good_.

Near's gut churned. He felt sick. This wasn't him. This _wasn't him_.

What was he _doing_?

B's face was slowly turning a vaguely blue-grey colour.

_Like Alex when B had kissed him; dead and hanging from the roof and B's lips and hands were everywhere._

Near was torn between releasing B and pressing down harder, making B's body grow limper and weaker and completely defenceless.

_God..._

B's breath was coming in short puffs of carbon dioxide on Near's throat. Soon, B wouldn't have anything to exhale at all.

It was not a conscious decision on Near's part; he was only aware that one moment, he was leaning over B and strangling him and trying as hard as he could to just _kill_ the boy, and the next, they were kissing almost violently, teeth clacking and nails tearing and fists bruising.

He was the worst - the lowest form of scum on Earth, and he knew it, but _God_, he didn't want to stop.

There was a hole in the car's roof that allowed sunlight into the car, and it temporarily blinded Near when both he and B fell to the car's dirty floor.

"They're going to find us," Near breathed as B kissed his throat.

B did not seem to care when he replied quietly, "So?" and Near was grateful that he didn't pretend to.

It didn't feel right when they touched each other, but it was so completely fulfilling that Near couldn't regret it for a moment.

It was over in a few short minutes. Near didn't know whether to lament that fact or be grateful of it.

There was silence in the car for several moments, and then B pressed a disgustingly gentle kiss to Near's temple and whispered affectionately, "Hey. You asleep? I wanna tell you something..."

Near's limbs were shaking and everything looked slightly blurred, but he tried to focus as best he could on the vague outline of B's face above his own. "Yeah?" he asked softly. The pain in his ankle had dulled to a constant ache and his head felt far too light. He needed to see a doctor.

B looked uncomfortable for a second, and Near's hand brushed against something sharp in the pocket of B's abandoned jeans. He held up the knife wordlessly and B chewed on his lip.

"Safety precaution," B explained.

Near nodded.

Neither of them mentioned the blood on the blade.

"You wanted to tell me something?" Near asked. His eyelids felt heavy; he couldn't stay awake for much longer.

B shifted above him and touched Near's cheek, breathing quickly. "I-... I l-..." B frowned and cursed under his breath. "I lo-..." He snapped his mouth shut with an audible 'click' and looked away from Near, his eyes downcast as if he was ashamed.

Near thought that he knew what B had been trying to say and was glad that he couldn't. He didn't need to hear it, nor did he want to.

"Yeah," Near murmured tiredly. "Me too."

They fell asleep on the car's filthy carpet at two o'clock, according to the Great Clock, B's head resting comfortably on Near's chest.

-----

If anyone actually cares, at this stage, the Latin that Near says (because I picture him using the Lord's name in vain in Latin... don't ask) mean something about the Virgin Mary and 'Holy Father'. I haven't even _thought_ about Latin in about six months (except for in Legal Studies - _consortium vitae_, anyone?), so... yeah. I'm a lazy asshole (:

The ending seems abrupt. I'm too tired to care. This is another one of those 'made sense at the time' things.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer**: If you still think, at this stage, that I own Death Note, then there is something seriously wrong with you (:

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex, and references to death, suicide, and necrophilia...

**Spoilers**: Back at the club, I met this other chick... She's an amputee that looks like a T-Rex...

**AN**: Crappy McCrap, with a side-order of crap (:

_Felly_, you are almost there but not quite :D

If you're still trying to figure out what the hell's going on, this chapter should pretty much give it away...

I mean, if you read into it. Sort of.

-----

Not quite;

_By Azar-Apocalypse_

---

Chapter Fourteen:

_Don't be afraid; we'll make it out of this mess..._

-----

Once a week, at Wammy's House, the orphans attended compulsory lessons on self-defence and how to survive in hostage situations. The lectures were given by specialists and professors, and though Near felt that most of them were a waste of time, he enjoyed the fact that most of what was being taught was either very simple to him or common sense.

When Near awoke alone in a cold room, his face pressed uncomfortably to something cold and metal, he lay very, very still and tried to remember what he had learned in his classes.

Was he restrained? He moved his hands minutely and drew in a sharp breath.

Handcuffed to a table.

Was there anyone in the room with him? He couldn't raise his head to look around; that would give his consciousness away, so he closed his eyes and tried to _feel_.

He couldn't sense anyone in the room with him, but it felt like he was being watched.

Cameras, then.

He felt sick.

He tried to assess his surroundings as best his could while still remaining still. The ground beneath his feet was hard and a bright light from overhead made it difficult to refrain from squinting his eyes shut tighter. It was extremely cold: he was in a metal room. The clinking of the handcuffs against what Near could only assume was the metal leg of the table did not echo; the room was small.

What had the lecturers told him? No sudden movements. Pretend to be asleep. Wait until someone communicated with him. _Do not resist his kidnappers' demands_.

Near could not feel his foot. His ankle was so swollen that he could feel the material of his pants pressing against the wound, the pressure almost unbearable. His head ached, as if it had recently been hit, and his whole body throbbed. He wanted to go back to sleep.

There was a small 'thud' and the sharp sound of footsteps approaching him. A searing pain in his scalp and his head was lifted up by his hair. It was too bright when he opened his eyes and he winced.

Joshua Lewis sneered, his police badge glinting in the light. Near thought that he looked rather idiotic, but decided against saying anything.

"Think you might be a bit more cooperative, this time?" Joshua asked.

Near tried not to indicate that he was in any pain, but it proved difficult when Joshua tightened his fist in his hair.

He debated commenting on police brutality, but ultimately decided that that was probably a bad idea.

"I'm... very curious as to what evidence you have against me," Near remarked. "I'm also very interested as to why you installed cameras in my bedroom." He smirked. "Or maybe I don't want to know."

The thought of Joshua watching him dress and sleep made Near want to vomit.

Joshua recoiled slightly, his cheeks flushing, and raised his hand. It was probably supposed to be threatening. Near rolled his eyes. Joshua seemed to think better of hitting Near and, instead, ran his hand through his hair, somehow managing to make it appear as if that had been his intention all along.

"So... the evidence," Joshua said lamely. He produced a manila folder from what Near hoped was his pocket. "Right here," he pulled out a paper, "is a conversation that one of our investigators had with one of the children at the orphanage. Let me summarise it for you. One of the kids said they saw you talking to Alex. Alex-"

Near cleared his throat, trying hard not to frown. "When, exactly, did this conversation take place?"

Joshua smirked. "Don't you remember? Two weeks ago. Anyway, Alex looked upset. You told him about tying something. The next day, he showed up dead, hanging from a ceiling. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Near frowned. Something cold infiltrated his chest. His breath didn't seem enough; the oxygen wasn't making it to his lungs.

He didn't want to go to prison; moreover, he didn't want to go to prison on a false charge.

He had never had that conversation with Alex. Surely even Mello wouldn't sink so low as to falsely testify against Near.

Joshua leaned back and smiled, looking satisfied. He did not release Near's hair.

"I'd hardly call that evidence," Near said, his mind working so quickly that he wasn't aware of what he was saying at all. "Word of mouth, maybe. Do you have a lie-detector, Mr. Lewis? Would you be interested in asking me what happened while I was hooked up to a polygraph machine?"

He was surprised by how calm he sounded. He wanted to scream and cry and rage and shout that he didn't know anything and that he didn't know what was going on and that he wanted to see B, because he didn't know what Joshua was talking about and it scared him.

In any other circumstance or at any other time, it would not have bothered him very much. He would have been completely certain in his knowledge that he had not spoken to Alex in months, but the smallest part of Near doubted himself.

He was sure that B had watched while he and Linda had had sex. There was no denying it. It had happened. But how could Linda have missed B's presence; why would she continue if she loved Near and knew that B was there; and why would she lie about it later?

It simply wasn't like Linda to do something like that; however, Near was not wrong.

But now, he was being told that he had had a conversation with someone who he hadn't spoken to in months.

Maybe he just didn't remember the conversation.

Maybe it really had happened, and he was concussed, so he couldn't think clearly.

Maybe one of the children had given false evidence to the police.

Near drew in a deep breath. He was not fooling himself.

Joshua narrowed his eyes, but his smirk did not fade. "You're an obsessive compulsive, sociopathic orphan. It's not uncommon for people like you to be able to lie to a polygraph machine."

Near yanked his head from Joshua's grip and sat up as straight as he could, his scalp stinging and throbbing. He still could not feel his foot. "My ankle's broken," he said, "and I need to see a doctor. What would it take to get me some medical assistance?"

"Confess," Joshua demanded.

Near was not shocked in any way, shape, or form, and he replied disappointedly, "This isn't going to make me confess to something that I didn't do. I haven't killed anyone. Do your job properly or don't attempt to do it at all."

Joshua glared at Near when he asked, "This is a let-down to you, is it?"

With a small shrug, Near answered, "Frankly, I expected more from you. Evidence? Hardly. I'm disappointed. You got me all excited for nothing."

It was growing colder in the room. Near shivered, though he tried to hide it, and bit down on the inside of his cheek.

He was certain that he had not had a conversation with Alex for months; moreover, if this conversation _had_ taken place and Near, for whatever reason, couldn't remember it, why would he speak to Alex about _tying_ things?

He knew what Joshua was implying. He also knew that the 'window' on the far side of the room was not a window at all, but a two-way mirror.

He smiled at it and said very clearly, "The attention is flattering, really, but I hope you're not going to watch me while I shower or anything."

Something in the pit of his stomach was icy; the chill travelled up his spine until it was in his chest and he found it hard to think.

People were watching his every move.

Joshua had installed cameras in his room.

Alex had watched him shower.

B said so, and Near knew that there was no reason for B to lie about such a thing, so it had happened.

Alex had _taken photographs of him showering._

How could Near have possibly missed that? How could he have continued to bathe without noticing that Alex was peering under (or over?) the walls of his shower cubicle and photographing his wet, naked, and soapy body?

Near felt used and hollow, as if he was somehow betraying himself by thinking about it. Something in his mind screamed at him to turn away and _stop_ while he still could, because he could not comprehend the impossibility of himself being so _stupid_ and Alex _watching him shower_, but he could (or would) not stop - not until he understood.

He wished that B was here; he was glad that B was not.

Something suddenly occurred to him and he addressed the mirror again, trying to sound as casual as he possibly could: "You found me and brought me here, right? There was a boy with me. Where is he?"

The mirror did not reply, Near had not expected it to, but that didn't prevent him from feeling disappointed.

If the police had B in isolation again, Near knew that they would have found the bloody knife on the boy's person, unless B had been smart enough to throw it away at the first opportunity.

But thinking about it wouldn't get them out of gaol, and he did not want to think about B.

It seemed vital to Near that he should think about Alex, instead. He had betrayed the boy and, while feeling guilty about his part in defiling the body of a pervert made him feel ill and oddly amused, his mind almost seemed to reel away from Alex, incapable of comprehending that he had actually done something so disgusting to Near.

Near felt horrible and betrayed and disgusted and repulsive and sick of his own skin; he felt dirty, and found himself thinking about what Alex had done with the photographs...

Suddenly, Near felt as if he had fallen away from reality; it seemed like he had gone to a place where there was nothing resembling anything - a place so devoid of reason and light and spirit that he simply could not grasp it on any sort of conscious level; so utterly immense and jagged that if he even tried to understand it, his mind would reel away, unable to process the intensity of what was inside him: the knowledge where he was, what he was doing, what had happened to him, what Alex had done to him, what B had done to Alex.

It was so clear and real and integral to him that it was entirely abstract in its purity. This was him; this was the raw essence of his humanity, where nothing seemed to matter but the abject loss of his ability to trust and function. Reflection was useless; the world was senseless.

He felt violated; he wanted to tear away his skin until there was nothing left of himself, nothing that Alex could claim to have seen.

Of only two things was Near completely aware: the weight of manacles around his wrists and ankles, and bile rising in his throat. He was almost overcome by self-pity, then disgust, then anger, frustration, confusion, and, finally, denial.

This could not have happened to him. He heard about this on the news and on television shows, awful things somehow falling perfectly into the shape of events on a screen. He could almost hear the dramatic swell of an orchestra; could almost hallucinate the camera panning low around him; could almost _feel_ the cheap, grainy image of a young, teenaged girl falling to the ground, her painted lips parting as she wept and the subsequent murmur of 'I feel so violated' in Dolby Digital sound. But Near felt frozen and numb against the table, and his mind was empty - maybe he was gibbering nonsense or even sobbing - and he realised, at first distantly and then with greater clarity, that the havoc raging inside of him was real, that this had happened to _him_, not a nameless face on a television screen.

He found that thinking, at that moment, was too hard, because his mind would inevitably stray to Alex - to things the boy had done with him, to gestures that seemed kind at the time but now had almost sinister undertones, to off-handed comments the boy had made that now seemed more than slightly perverted - but he couldn't seem to stop. He closed his eyes and could see nothing but Alex, and then B and Alex, which was even worse, and his fingernails dug at the table until they bent backward, away from his fingers, and began to sting and bleed and ache, and he was choking back bile and maybe crying, too, and he looked up at the mirror. His reflection flickered and he saw Joshua and other detectives that he did not recognise staring back at him and a moment of understanding passed between them, and then his reflection was back and his face was wet - it didn't look very attractive and he could only imagine (_oh God please stop_) what Alex had found attractive in it - and he retched.

Near couldn't do this.

So Near went away.

-----

Late update is late.

And fail.

I'm flooded in, at the moment.

I'm updating because it's been a month and a half since the last time I did so. It's too long a wait, I think, but I haven't been writing much lately, so the update is crappy :D

As for lying to polygraph machines: Yes, it is possible. Just like any other machine, they are not fool-proof.

Don't leave comments on how crappy this is, please, because I already know. Ugh. It's horrible.


	15. I'm sorry, guys

Hey, guys. Unfortunately, this isn't an update. I really have no legitimate excuse for the disgustingly long wait on updates for this piece, but... here goes:

My health has always been pretty much shit, but lately it's gotten to the point where I can't leave the house. Which sucks. My blood-pressure is so low that on some days it doesn't register; I've lost about ten kilograms in the span of a few weeks; my insomnia is even worse than it was before, so I'm not sleeping for days on end...

Um, yeah. So there's that.

Then there's the fact that I missed over a month of schoolwork because I was so sick, so I'm desperately trying to catch up. It's not hard, but it's taking a while due to things that will be explained in a moment. I missed assessment pieces in five of my six courses and while I can't submit anything at such a late date, I refuse to just _miss out_ on so much work, so I'm kind of forcing myself to do the work anyway. And before you ask... no, I don't have a life.

So there's also that.

And in addition to that... about seven months ago, things kinda started going to shit again. It's a long story and I don't want to go into details, but... Um, okay, so I basically have this huge sob-story about abuse, sexual assault, and shit, but you don't need to hear it. My point is that four or five weeks ago, I was going to commit suicide. Pretty dramatic, right? Anyway, I started calling everyone, saying goodbye, when one of my friends figured out what the hell I was going to do and pimp-slapped me across the face (yes, over the phone). With the help of her mom (who I absolutely _adore_), she convinced me to check myself into the local hospital and get some help.

So I did. And here I am.

I pretty much owe her and her mom my life, when I think about it, and I'm not really sure how to repay them. Things haven't really started to look up, but I have more than enough help and I think that maybe, hopefully, things are going to be okay. Therapy, however, is really taking it out of me and my medication is making me physically ill, so my physical health is pretty much at its lowest point.

So, um, there's that, too.

I'm in the middle of writing the next chapter of _Not Quite; _but I honestly have no idea of when I'm going to update. Hopefully by the end of the year, but I promise nothing. Sorry, guys, but things are understandably hectic right now, and I kind of messed something up in previous chapters so I have to rewrite my whole plan for the end of the story :(

In the meantime, I'm writing whatever comes to mind at any given moment, so be on the lookout for other updates :)

Um... A huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed this piece, and/or put it on their favourites and/or alerts list. You guys are really awesome :D I really hope you're willing to wait this the hell out, 'cause I swear I'm going to update eventually.

Ciao for now,

Azar.


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